Valley of the Shadow
by Maat
Summary: No one burst into the room to stop the sacrifice. Instead, the Maker saw fit to pull Errol Kerr through the Breach from another world and place her at the center of a dangerous game. Now she is both player and pawn to forces she doesn't understand, the lines between love and hate are blurred, and the final battle will be for her very humanity. (F!Inq/Cullen) (F!Inq/Solas)
1. Prologue: The Place Beyond

**AN: Hi all, it's been a _very_ long time. I've been going through a lot - job stuff! Getting married! Family issues! Physical crap! Plus writing novels and trying to get published! - and I needed a break from all that. So I'm turning to fanfiction for a bit of fun and to play once again in a world that I love and not take things so seriously. This, like my _It's The End _series, will roughly follow the plot of DA:I but with enough twists and turns to make it unique. The prologue is something of a taste of what's to come, and afterward we'll be back to the beginning of the story, to see how it all started. I don't want to give too much away but there's definitely darker versions of some characters and some twisted love triangle goodness. It's fun to be posting here again! I missed this.**

**EDITING to say: As I've continued to write this, it has turned heavily smutty in the later chapters. HEAVILY smutty, and from what I understand there are rules against that kind of stuff here. When that time comes I will likely post a summary here for people who want to skip those parts and redirect the rest of you dirty minded people over to my AO3 account where that kind of stuff is allowed.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Prologue: The Place Beyond**

At first, all she heard was the beeping, soft and steady. Then the sharp smell of antiseptic.

_That _was a smell she would never smell there. _It worked,_ she thought hazily. _The mad bastard did it. I can't believe it._

She forced her crusty eyelids open, the light a now-unfamiliar florescent sterility. A crucifix hung across from her on a white hospital wall. Outside, the cherry blossoms blew in the breeze. _Spring again? My God. How long have I been__…__?_

She turned her head, just a little, and they were there, incredibly: her mother, father, and brother, standing by the window, their heads bowed together as they whispered amongst themselves. _My family. Still here after all of this time. Was today to be the day, then? Did I catch them just in time? Thank the Maker._

God and the Maker, thought so close together as to be intertwined. Over time, their lexicon had crept in, even though she still had the tendency to recite her own blasphemies when upset. The thought almost made her smile, even though her throat was clogged with tears.

"Errol!"

Her mother was the first to look up and see her, and her shrill cry was music to her ears. Suddenly they were on her, tears streaming down their faces, her mother clutching her hand, her father calling for a doctor.

Errol opened her mouth, just a little. Her lips were cracked and dry, her throat sore. "Mommy?"

"Shhh, it's okay, sweetie, we're here for you," her mother said, her eyes, green as Errol's own, shining with tears.

"It's a miracle," her father whispered reverently.

Errol licked her lips. She was so weak, only a small part of her here, just enough to keep her conscious, not too much to lock her once again into this body. At least that's what _he_ had told her. "What happened?"

"No one knows," her mother said, brushing hair from her forehead. "They found you in the river. They said you were… that you'd never…"

"They said you were brain dead," her younger brother said brashly, but his voice shook. She smiled a little.

"Hi, Jerk."

"Three days," her mother continued tremulously. "Three days just waiting here, praying, hoping against hope, and now—"

"What do you mean three days?" Errol asked sharply. "Mama, it's been over three _years_."

Her family stared at her like she was crazy. "Sweetie, what do you mean?" her father asked.

"Maybe it's the knock on the head," her mother said in a hushed voice.

"There's no way—" Errol started.

"Is it so hard to fathom that time might flow differently in two such different places?" The voice was strange, but the cadence familiar. Errol turned her head a bit, and saw a man enter the room.

He wore a white doctor's coat and had slightly frizzy blonde hair and a large nose. He looked like just a man, and felt like just a man. Here, like this, Errol could feel nothing. She had forgotten what it was like, to feel nothing, to live in a world where there was nothing beyond the physical. The absence hurt like a severed limb.

Still, she knew it was him.

"Do what you you came to do," he said.

"You're here? How? I thought you couldn't — are you— are you _possessing _him? Can you do that?" Errol asked, trying to sit up and failing. She was so weak. He waved one hand as if to brush the question away.

"It is irrelevant, and we have little time. Do what you came to do."

"Doctor, what are you saying?" Errol's mother asked, rising from her chair.

"I'd like to know what's going on," her father demanded. They both ignored him.

"They're saying only been three days," Errol said. "Did you know?"

He sighed. "I had suspicions that it might be a possibility, but nothing concrete. Still, this changes nothing."

"This changes everything! I came because I thought it was my last chance, because I thought they would cut the cord after all these months. But if it's only been three days, then I might—"

"Might what? Come back to say hello from time to time and risk being trapped here without my guidance? Or come back after your lover dies in our world in a vain attempt to escape, only to discover more misery and lose a piece of yourself you won't be able to regain? You play a dangerous game, and it is time to end it. Do what you came to do, and end this. Free yourself."

"What is going on?" her mother demanded, stepping between her and the doctor. "This is ridiculous. I'm calling security."

"Mama," Errol managed the strength to catch her hand. "Mama, please, I'm sorry."

Her parents both turned to her, confusion clear on their faces. She beckoned her brother over from the shadows of the far side of the room, felt the weight of the bed shift as he sat at the foot. She reached out and took her father's hand too, and felt the weight of their realness.

_I am real here, _she realized. _In a way I never will be again. I am flesh and blood, truly. No one has to linger to make them forget. _Her resolve weakened. _No one will turn on me if they realize the truth. No one relies on me to save them. No one tries to make me something that I'm not, no one tries to shape me to their will. But—_

She thought of the other man, the one she loved, the one she had left like a thief in the night after she promised she would stay. It was a betrayal she wasn't sure he was going to get over quickly, even if she returned as whole - or unwhole - as she had ever been.

"Errol," he warned. "Time is short."

"I love you," she said to her family. "That's all I ever wanted to say. I love you. So much has happened. I know it seems crazy, like I've just been lying here dying but I've been places, done things you wouldn't believe. Great things. Terrible things."

"Sweetie," her mother said, touching her forehead. "You're burning up. You're sick. Let us get another doctor in here."

"No, don't rush off," she begged. "Let me have this. Let me tell me that — it's okay. You don't have to worry about me. Don't worry. I'm okay. I love you. I'm just not here anymore. Be happy. I was going to tell you to let me go, but it's only been three days. I can live a lifetime in a few more. Maybe I'll come home. Let me think."

"I'm sorry," he said, near her head now, and he did sound truly sorry. "But I can't have you tethered to this place any longer. I have too many plans. It's holding you back. It's holding _everything _back."

She looked at him, suddenly fearful. "You said—"

"I said you would get to say your goodbyes. You did that. My part of the bargain is complete." He sounded sad. "I told you there would be a price. I do this for your own good. I have known it from the start. Your humanity is a chain that must be broken for something greater to arise."

From the pocket of his lab coat he produced a knife, and before anyone could move he plunged it into her neck. Errol felt it, cold, cold, biting into her skin like teeth, before everything snapped sharp as glass and she went spiraling back down, down down down into the Ferelden woods.

She woke with a gasp, and the world shifted, insubstantial, her form light as air, too mutable, unfixed, driftwood torn from a ship and tossed in the ocean during a storm. Cutting the cord had changed something, made her less than she was. Far less. _So he lied about that, too._

It was too much. Pain, betrayal, rage, fear. The worst was the loss: loss of purpose, loss of self, loss of body, loss of humanity, loss of family, loss of hope, loss of faith. She couldn't stay, couldn't leave, couldn't concentrate, couldn't _be_.

"Control yourself!" he shouted. His mark was still on her neck, fixed, burning, pulling, demanding. _Get it off me, get it off! S_he hated him in that moment. Couldn't believe that she had ever felt another way about him, couldn't believe that she had almost —

_Fear, hate, betrayal, loss, pain._

"Errol, no, fix your form, you cannot lose yourself, not now!"

_You did this to me! _

She tore at the sky. She tore at herself, her weak human figure. She tore at _everything._

When Cassandra and the others came upon the battle, they found no trace of her. All they found was him, a rift, and a demon.


	2. The Owl and the Butterfly

_**AN: This, like so many before it, will start at the beginning of the game, so the first few chapters will be familiar scenes. Don't worry, there's plenty of unique dialogue, and they'll veer off course soon enough.**_

_**Also, there's quite a lot of cursing in these chapters. It won't continue like this, but when Errol is pushed too far she has a mouth. Blame her dad.**_

_**Love is appreciated!**_

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**Chapter 1: The Owl and the Butterfly  
**

**Many, many months earlier…**

It smelled like dirt and old metal. She was on her knees. They hurt. Her head hurt. Everything hurt. Her left hand _really_ hurt, like pins and needles, if the needles were blades dipped in fire and laced with poison.

Hands. Her hands were weighted in front of her. Heavy. Cuffed? Everything was fuzzy, but she was pretty sure they were cuffed. She felt blood trickle down her thigh and the inside of her mouth tasted of copper. It was dark and the only light was accompanied by a smoky, campfire scent that made her cough.

What happened. All she could remember were…

Spiders. There were definitely spiders. Big as horses. Legs skittering, too many legs, eyes the size of her head, pincers frothing. She shuddered. Fucking _spiders_. She must have been dreaming. No, not a dream. A nightmare.

"She's conscious!"

Errol opened her eyes, and the pain in her hand flared a visible green, like the Northern Lights. A nightmare she was clearly still in.

_Northern Lights, that's how it all started. Above the city, on the river…_

The door slammed open and Errol's head jerked up to to see two women stride into what was clearly some kind of old-fashioned dungeon. Both of them were dressed like it was the Middle Ages, if the Middle Ages had warrior women. The first, fierce-looking in armor with short, jet-black hair, immediately strode forward and jerked Errol's head back by her hair.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now," she hissed, in what sounded almost like a Russian accent. Up close, Errol could see the scars that marred her tanned skin, the premature lines and shadows under her eyes.

She wanted to believe that this was some kind of joke, but she looked deadly serious. The woman pulled harder on her hair and Errol let out a little whimper.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, trembling, the pain in her hand flaring and sparking, the woman's grip on the back of her head like iron. "What's going on? Who are you? Why are you dressed like that? Where am I?"

The woman released her hair with a sound of disgust and instead started circling her. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you."

Errol blinked back frustrated tears. "What the _fuck_ is a Conclave?" she bit out. "What the hell kind of place is this? Is this a joke? A cult? A really serious group of LARPers? This is kidnapping, you know. I have rights. You're telling me people are dead while dressed like _that_?"

She was, as her father had called it, acting the Owl. When she was little he had shown her a brown butterfly with a large dark spot on its lower wings. _"__To predators, that looks likes an owl__'__s eye,__" _he had said, his voice a gentle Scottish burr. _"__So they think it__'__s a predator too. Sometimes, when you__'__re backed against a wall, you have to act bigger than you are. If you__'__re ever in a really bad situation, act the Owl. Don__'__t let them know you__'__re a butterfly.__"_

The woman blinked and looked momentarily taken aback by her language, but then regained her footing in an instant and snarled: "You're asking _me_ questions? You're the one dressed in materials we've never seen before. You will explain that. But now. Explain this." She grabbed Errol's left hand and the green pain flared again, sharper this time. It smelled like moss after the rain, like old earth, clean with the hint of death.

Errol started to laugh hysterically. "_You_ explain that! This is your trick! What did you do to me? All I know is it hurts and it looks like—"

—_like the Northern Lights, green over the river, floating so close you could touch them, static electricity on your arm—_

"You're saying _I_ did this to _you_?" the woman barked, grabbing her arms, and Errol screamed as the pain flared hot against her skin. "How dare you!"

The other woman finally intervened, pulling the first off of Errol with a strength that belied her slender frame. "We need her, Cassandra."

She was fully covered in a long chain-mail tunic and well-worked leather, including boots and high gloves, and a scarf covered her short red hair. She seemed to blend well into the shadows; Errol had barely noticed her before, but now she turned and spoke with a soft, lilting accent.

"Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

Errol scrunched up her face, trying. Her memory was cloudy at best, blank at worst, like ragged holes had been cut into it. "I was hiking," she said slowly, some pieces coming back together. "Outside Seattle." It was late March, and warm; she wore nothing but jeans, a worn band t-shirt, waterproof hiking boots, a light rain jacket, and a backpack. "Along a stream. The cherry blossoms were blooming." She could still smell the pollen. "The Northern Lights… we could see them around the city, green and glowing … and they were there, on the water. I put my bag down on the bank, I wanted to see, there were images in them, I heard voices, I …"

Her memory cut off abruptly, then reemerged. "Then there were spiders. Really, really big spiders. I've never run so fast in my life. There was a woman, she glowed too…"

"A woman?" the red-head asked, with a significant glance at Cassandra.

"She reached out to me. Anything to get away from the spiders. I mean, how could spiders get that big? It's not possible. It's not… possible. So big. Like…" she trailed off. "Really big. Have I mentioned I have arachnophobia?"

"Anything else?"

Errol glared at her. "You guys are seriously underestimating how big these spiders were. That doesn't make you the least bit uncomfortable? Spiders the size of minivans running around?"

"We have worse things to worry about," Cassandra said shortly. "Besides, they were likely just demons. We will discuss what a _minivan_ is later."

"_Just demons_?" Errol gaped. "You're fucking with me now, right?"

Cassandra turned away to speak in soft tones to the other woman. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift."

Leliana nodded and left. Cassandra turned back to Errol, brought her hands close - Errol flinched - and removed her handcuffs. Then she gripped Errol's arm too tightly and hauled her to her feet. "Come. I will show you."

"Show me what?" Errol asked tentatively. Cassandra gave her a piercing look.

"Everything."

Cassandra kept her grip on Errol's arm as she marched her outside, like she was afraid Errol would bolt at any minute. She didn't have to worry though. The moment the doors swung open, Errol's legs turned to jelly.

The world… it was a world. Not just one bad smelling room with something weird on her hand and a few people dressed crazy. They were smack in the middle of a military camp near the top of a snowy mountain, the wind cutting like a knife through her thin jacket and torn jeans, and the sky…

_The sky._

There was a hole in it, a swirling tear that spun like a hurricane, green and aglow. It was unearthly, literally. _Am I even on Earth? _she asked herself.

A small voice answered in the back of her head. _No. No, you__'__re not._

"We call it the Breach," Cassandra said, watching her face carefully.

"Jesus Christ," Errol breathed. Cassandra turned to her quizzically.

"Who?"

"Never mind," she said quickly. "Just… what is that thing?"

Cassandra looked to the sky. "It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

"That's the second time you've mentioned demons," Errol said.

"And?"

"Please tell me you are not talking about literal demons, because I am having a really hard time wrapping my head around this."

Cassandra cocked her head. "Literal demons, yes. From the Fade."

Errol groaned. "That doesn't help."

"You don't know of demons? Just where are you from? Where is this… Seattle?"

"Earth," Errol said bluntly. "We don't have demons. Or a Fade, whatever that is. I have no idea what any of this is."

"Well learn quickly," Cassandra said. "Or die in darkness. I don't have time to hold your hand."

"Gee, thanks," Errol said sarcastically.

"Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world."

As if to punctuate her words, lightning burst forth from the Breach, filling the air with a ghostly green glow. Errol's hand exploded too, emerald fire lancing up her arm. She screamed in agony and fell to her knees, her head spinning from the pain.

Cassandra knelt in front of her. "Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you," she said urgently. "It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

Errol looked at her through eyes squinted in pain. "If we stop this, will I get to go home?" she asked. Cassandra looked taken aback.

"I don't know. I don't know where you're from… or if I trust who you say you are. I… I don't even know your name."

"It's Errol," she said, accepting Cassandra's hand as she got back on her feet. "Errol Kerr. And I _am_ telling the truth."

"Cassandra Pentaghast," Cassandra said stiffly. "And we shall see. Come, we must move quickly."

They walked through the camp, surrounded by hundreds of people dressed the same way as Cassandra - in faux Medieval combat gear. _Faux_ because it looked nothing like history textbooks had ever shown, but real enough in that the metal looked solid, the fur looked it was skinned from an animal, the cloth was coarse, and the people were unwashed and haggard and glaring at her. She felt small and wrong in her blood-stained, ripped jeans and hiking boots and windbreaker, her blonde french braid now a mess of knots and dried blood, her face scratched so much it was like something had tried to connect her sparse freckles. She was cold, and ached all over, and felt their hatred of her like it was a palpable pressure on her chest.

"They have decided your guilt," Cassandra said bluntly. "They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, Head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers."

_Most Holy. Divine. Chantry. _Her brain tried to parse out the words, make sense of them. She had always been good at making connections. "A Most Holy person, considered divine, head of a… religious organization? So maybe kind of like the Pope. Only… female? Maybe the Chantry is like the Catholic Church. That's… something."

Cassandra looked at her like she was speaking nonsense words, which, Errol reasoned, she was. "Sorry, go on."

"I was going to say that the Conclave was a chance to bring about peace between mages and templars, and that now their leaders are dead, but it seems you would know nothing about that, would you?" Cassandra asked. Errol shook her head.

"Not a damn thing."

"Well. This will be interesting. You are like an infant. Are there no mages in your world?"

"No templars either. Well, at least not the kind you're probably thinking of."

"So no magic? No lyrium? No abominations? No blights? No dragons?"

"You have _dragons_?"

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. She seemed to make those a lot. "Come. We don't have much to spare, but we must at least outfit you with something more sturdy than those ridiculous things you're wearing."

"It's freezing and I'm covered in blood. Why didn't you change my clothes before?"

Cassandra gave her an ice-cold glare. "We didn't see the point in outfitting a dying prisoner who we believe destroyed the Conclave and killed hundreds. That's what blankets were for… when you were very unwell."

"Ouch. Point taken."

She led them to a small tent and spoke shortly and with barely restrained anger to the young woman manning it. The woman glared at Errol, then disappeared inside for a minute before reappearing with a pair of pants made from some kind of tough hide and a coat of the same material.

Cassandra stalked to Errol and shoved it into her arms. "Here. Put it on over what you already have. It's all we can spare."

Errol struggled to pull the pants on over her boots and jeans. They were snug, but warm, and lined with what felt like lamb's wool. "What was that all about?" she asked, shrugging off her windbreaker before putting on the coat. She felt Cassandra stare incredulously at her father's old Rolling Stones t-shirt before the coat covered it up.

"She didn't want to outfit the murderer of Divine Justinia," Cassandra said shortly. Errol's face fell.

"Oh." She finished buttoning the coat, then put her windbreaker over it, as she was fairly certain that the coat, sturdy as it was, wasn't waterproof. She pulled the hood down over her head to shield herself as best she could from the snow. She still had no hat or gloves. She looked at Cassandra, who shrugged.

"I told you, the best we could do. We will have to move quickly. We have worse things to worry about than frostbite."

"Comforting. Really."

They left the safety of the camp through huge wooden doors, Cassandra still rambling as if speaking would somehow fill the void that stretched between them. "We lash out like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the Breach is sealed. There will be a trial. I can promise no more."

"A trial? For having the bad luck to fall ass first into a world full of demons? Jesus. My lucky day." The cold and exhaustion was starting to wear away Errol's fear into a sort of grumpy numbness, like she had been pushed so far past disbelief she couldn't be touched anymore.

"You keep saying that name."

"It's religious. I shouldn't be cursing with it. But everyone does."

"Is it your God?"

"Look, can we not discuss religion right now? I barely celebrate Christmas, I don't need to be explaining the finer points of the resurrection to you."

"I was just trying to say… if you have a God, you might want to be praying to them now."

Errol said nothing.

Cassandra kept walking, her feet silent on the snowy path. "Come, it is not far."

Errol jogged to keep up. "Where are you taking me?"

"Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach."

"Tested? Tested how?"

Lightning cracked above them again, and echoed up her arm, tiny branches of fire going all the way into her heart. Errol cried out and fell to her knees. It hurt like nothing she had ever felt before, like she should be glowing from the inside.

Cassandra helped her to her feet once again. "The pulses are coming faster now," was all she said. Errol got the hint. When she could breathe again, she started to run.

Soon they reached a bridge, made of ancient worn stone slick with ice. Errol had a stitch in her side but Cassandra was right behind her and she didn't want to fall back, not then, not when her hand felt like it was going to burn off at any moment. She was halfway across the bridge when the bolt of green fire fell from the sky, and the world crumbled beneath her.

"No!" she screamed, as the stones gave way, her hands scrambling and finding nothing but air above her. "Mother _fucking son of a bitch can this day get any worse!__"_

They landed hard on the ice below, the rocks miraculously not crushing either of their heads. The breath whooshed out of Errol's lungs as she landed and her hip took most of the blow, but otherwise she was fine. She crawled onto her hands and knees, sucking in air as her lungs relearned how to breathe.

She stood, shakily. _I'm okay, I'm okay._

The ball of fire hit the ice as well, but didn't melt it. Instead, it turned to smoke and grew, solidified into something real and tangible, a being taller than a human and made of shadow and hate.

"Are you _kidding_ me right now?!" Errol demanded of the heavens. She turned to Cassandra. "That's a demon. That's really a demon."

"Stay behind me!" Cassandra drew her sword and approached the monster, her whole body taut and perfectly balanced. Errol backed up.

"Yes, absolutely, yes," she babbled. "I will stay right here."

The ground in front of her bubbled and she skittered away.

"Oh, fuck me," she breathed.

Another one of the things was forming, right in front of her. "Cassandra," she called, her voice hoarse, then louder. "Cassandra, help me!"

Cassandra, ducking and lifting her shield to intercept a blow from the creature, didn't hear her. But something else did.

It sang to her, a strange vibration similar to the feeling in her hand, except this was a stone thrown into a still pool instead of waves thrashing violently on the shore. Errol turned her head sharply, eyes searching - _where are you? -_ and saw it lying innocently on a broken pile of rubble.

A staff, topped with a globe of strange metal. The air around it warped, little flecks of light dancing around it like a disco ball, strangely beautiful.

The creature before her reared, fully formed, and Errol, pulled by some compulsion she didn't fully understand, lunged for the staff.

The moment her hand touched it, her left hand, the one with the green mark, the whole world lit up in technicolor. Everything changed, moved, swept and shivered and blew through her like she was nothing more than a leaf in the wind and _oh this was how it was supposed to be, it was so good, was she even alive before?_

The thing before her felt uglier, its dark deeper, black ink spilled across the fabric of the world. And fabric it was, intricately spun together, the heat of molecules brushing together, the cold of the snow and the space untouched between things, the charge of the air, the spirits around her - spirits! She could hear them, feel them pressing near her, exciting, light as air, talking, lifting her, telling her what to do, holding her close with cries of welcome. It felt like a homecoming.

The creature charged. Errol stood straddling the barrier between _here _and _there _\- _and it would be so easy to cross, to slip away, like water through a sieve - _and she pulled at the marvelous heat from all of that incredible molecular friction. The spirits lent their help, sending off little pieces of themselves into her spell. She felt it flow through the staff into the demon, felt it light him up like a log in the fire, burning away his darkness until he screamed and screamed and shrank and then she pulled for some of that static charge and delighted in the spark of lighting jumping from the staff to him, charring him into the ground until he was a puddle, nothing left but an imprint, his stain gone, and she was laughing, and the spirits were laughing with her, touching her hair, lifting her up, she was lighter than air, than the sky, she could slip through the needle and—

"Drop your weapon."


	3. Heaven's Wrath

**Chapter 2: Heaven's Wrath**

Cassandra's voice brought her crashing back down to earth.

Errol instantly dropped the staff like it was a snake. It clattered across the ice but the feeling persisted, that feeling of being connected to something vaster than herself, like she was a rock who could feel the stream parting around her and seeping into her crevices, wearing her down. "I'm sorry, I don't know—"

"You're a _mage,_" Cassandra spat out. "Is everything you have said to me thus far a lie? An elaborate trap?"

"Cassandra, I swear to God, I have no idea what just happened. I just grabbed the staff, and—"

"Why?"

"What?"

"What would someone who's never heard of mages grab a mage's staff?"

"It… it _called_ to me. I can't explain it. And then I touched it, and everything… changed. I felt things, I knew things…"

"That's not how magic works." Cassandra pressed her lips into a thin line. "It presents itself during childhood and takes years to master, lest you set something on fire or become possessed by a demon. The level of control you just displayed is not something you pick up on a whim."

"Woah woah woah, demons can possess people? I thought they were just scary monsters."

"They can possess people - we call them abominations. But perhaps you know this? I've seen enough combat magic in my time to know that you cast fire and lightning spells well, though in an… unorthodox manner."

Errol met her gaze evenly. "I'm telling the truth, Cassandra."

She shook her head. "That's for the Chantry to decide. Right now, you need to defend yourself, and it seems you can. You can keep the staff. For now."

For a moment they just stared at it lying at Cassandra's feet, just a stick on the ice. Then Cassandra bent with a grunt, picked it up, and - with a look of complete disgust and mistrust on her face - handed it to Errol.

Tentatively, Errol reached out, her fingers brushing the wood and then jerking back before taking it from Cassandra. The feeling wasn't as strong now, but it was still there, that feeling of being porous, something flowing through and around her. She felt like she could see more, things that both were and weren't there, and hear whispers and words and songs just for her. It was beautiful, and terrifying.

Cassandra was watching her face carefully, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "This… _is _new to you," she admitted. "Or you are a very good liar."

"I'm really, really not," Errol said, and noticed that words tasted different on her tongue. "How am I supposed to run with this thing? It's taller than me."

She made a noise in the back of her throat, the vocal equivalent of rolling her eyes. "I don't know. I have seen novice mages use clasps but often the staffs simply stick to their backs."

"How?"

Cassandra glared. "With magic."

"Ah."

Errol fumbled awkwardly for a moment, trying to maneuver the long staff onto her back, but it wouldn't keep. Finally she gave up. "I'll just carry it."

The Breach pulsed again, as if urging them to move. "Fine," Cassandra said shortly, then turned and started to run, calling behind her as she did. "We've wasted enough time as is it. We're getting close to the rift. You can hear them fighting."

A panting Errol followed in her wake, trying desperately to keep up as she awkwardly carried the heavy staff with both hands. "Who's fighting?"

"You'll see soon. We must help them."

"Yeah," Errol gasped, trying to switch the cumbersome staff to a more comfortable position as she ran. She could sense the spirits snickering, not even trying to help. "Because being cryptic is really what I need right now."

Cassandra didn't answer, only sped up, so that Errol, winded and aching, was alone when she turned the corner and saw the rift for herself.

_My God…_

It was like the Northern Lights had solidified into crystal. The spirits around her went into a frenzy, and she felt a pull, so strong that her feet actually dragged back a few feet, as they begged her not to get close, to cross over to them where it was safe. _Getting close makes us change_, something whispered in her ear. _Yanks you through, hurts your heart. Run, run, hold on to yourself, all is warped there._

Demons. They were surrounding the floating crystal and were engaged in an all-out battle with the variety of fighters surrounding them. Errol felt her mark flare and it sent the spirits around her skittering. As if at the center of a game of tug-of-war, Errol's marked hand pulled her forward, reaching toward the rift, into the path of the demons.

_Help me_, she pleaded with the nebulous other side, slamming her staff into the ground to keep herself from being dragged forward or back. She reached for the place she had felt before, of standing with one foot in each world, except it was harder here, each world fought harder to keep her, to force her, to _change_ her…

And there was something else here, something that looked at her with hungry, interested eyes, a feeling that left Errol deeply shaken.

_Demon! _the spirits shouted, and Errol turned just in time to see one bearing down on her.

As if on instinct she lashed out with lightning and felt it sizzle through the darkness, claws severing from a body. Fire followed quickly, burning it away, but her staff was off the ground again and her left hand was pulling her whole body toward the rift, dragging her feet behind her like she was a doll. She dug in her heels and tried to jam her staff into the snow, but nothing stopped the relentless drag of her hand to the void.

She was almost at the mouth of the rift itself when someone grabbed her wrist.

His hand felt strange, like cold fire on her skin, soothing and burning all at once. She heard his shout as if from far away. "Quickly, before more come through!"

Then her palm had the sensation of opening up, and all of that fire and pain was sucked out of her veins into the void in front of her, killing it as surely as it had attempted to kill her. It sputtered for a moment, then flared green - once more the peaceful aura of the Northern Lights - and went out, leaving only a ghost image in its wake.

Errol stared at her hand, the terrible pain momentarily gone, then turned her vision to the man who had stopped her from tipping head-first into the abyss. He wasn't a man though, and Errol's jaw inadvertently fell open.

He was unassuming in every way: bald with a thin face, rough homespun clothing, a pack and a staff like hers on his back, some kind of animal jawbone hanging from his neck (_morbid), _bare feet _(in this weather?)_, but he felt not all there, somehow shadowed and shining, and his ears were elongated and pointed, sticking out from the side of his head like…

"Lord of the Rings," she muttered, dazed and overwhelmed.

The man cocked his head. "I beg your pardon?" He had a light, pleasant accent that reminded her of Welsh.

She shook her head and tried to focus on the situation. The crazy, crazy situation. "What did you do?"

He continued to study her with very light, ice-grey eyes, and Errol continued to study him back, entranced by his ears and vaguely on the edge of a breakdown. "I did nothing. The credit is yours."

That snapped Errol out of her trance. "You mean this mark? It was dragging me toward it. I thought I was dead for sure. I didn't know it could be used to _close_ it."

That seemed to interest him. "Dragging you? I wonder why…" He frowned, then shook his head. "Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake - and it seems I was correct."

"So whatever gave me this mark also brought me here?" Errol asked eagerly. "What could do something like that? Could it send me back?"

He looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean, brought you here?"

"It's a long story," Cassandra said, sounding exhausted. "But if I understand you correctly, the mark could also close the Breach itself."

The man with the pointed ears didn't seem to want to let his question go, but he did, dropping his shoulders and nodding, his gaze still holding Errol's. "Possibly. It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

"Good to know," another voice said. This one was deeper, and sounded like stone that rumbled up from deep underground. "Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever."

Errol turned to see a very short, stocky man in a heavy coat with a red shirt under it that was open to reveal a shocking amount of chest hair. A wicked looking crossbow was strapped to his back. He felt different - less mutable, more grounded, like he was part of the very earth itself. It wasn't as obvious as the other man, but something wasn't quite right about him. "Varric Tethras - rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong." He winked at Cassandra and she scowled.

"Oh," Errol said. She kept darting glances between him and the other man, unsure of how to react. "Hi."

"Chatty one, this girl," Varric said.

"Does something you see interest you?" the other man said, and Errol flushed - she had been staring at his ears again.

"I just… please excuse me… but… what are you?" she blurted out.

Everyone stared at her like she had just asked what color the sky was. The man actually looked taken aback. "What makes you ask that," he said, a bit warily.

"Yeah, as if the pointed ears weren't enough of a giveaway," Varric quipped.

"So like… they're real?" Errol asked tentatively.

She could _feel_ Cassandra facepalming behind her. "Now is not the time…"

"Of course they're real," he said, sounding more curious than affronted. "I am an elf."

Errol's eyes widened. "Oh. Wow. Okay. I thought that might be… but I didn't…"

He tilted his head. "You act as if you've never heard of elves before."

"Oh, I have, just probably not in the way you're thinking."

"Well I'm a dwarf, if that helps," Varric offered up, and Errol jumped and looked at him, her face red.

"I'm assuming you mean… a species?"

"Weird kid you got here, Seeker," Varric said to Cassandra. "Where'd you pick her up from, under a rock?"

"She's from… where she's from has yet to be determined. She claims it's a place without magic or the Fade."

"Suffice to say it has no other races either," the elf said, watching her carefully. He reached his hand out. "Do you mind?"

Errol just stared, not sure what he was getting at. His fingers were very long and pale, graceful to an extent that was almost otherworldly. After a moment of no reaction he tugged the windbreaker hood off of her head and touched her cheek lightly, turning her slightly from side to side as if studying an interesting specimen under a microscope. Something sparked on her skin, and she felt something else, an invisible magic unfurling its tendrils and probing her.

"How odd," he mused. "As before your eyes are wide set and sweep upward, but with the hood on I could see little else. When you were unconscious you appeared one way, yet for a moment I thought—"

He dropped his hand abruptly and shook his head. "You arrive through the Fade from a world without magic, and now magic flows through you at an unstable level. That cannot be merely a result of the mark. I'm curious to know how you came by your power, and how it is you arrived here."

"That is something we can determine later, once the Breach is sealed," Cassandra said brusquely. "Right now all we need to know is that she can close the rifts."

The elf nodded thoughtfully. "Of course." He turned to Errol. "I hate to think that you are referring to me now in your head as _the elf. _My name is Solas. I am pleased to see you still live."

"He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you as you slept,'" Varric said dryly. Errol spread her fingers wide and felt the skin stretch against the mark and the burning tingle of magic that lingered there.

"Thank you," she said. "You seem to know a lot about all of this."

"Solas is an apostate," Cassandra said, her words tinged with disdain, her eyes scanning the horizon.

Errol closed her eyes, exhaustion nearly overtaking her. She conjured up the feeling of her dad guiding her hand as he taught her how to throw a punch, how he showed her how to angle her elbow into a man's neck to make him choke and fall. _Be strong. __When backed up against the wall, act the Owl. _She opened her eyes. "Thanks Cassandra. Now what the fuck is an apostate?"

"Nice mouth she's got on her," Varric said, and she glared at him too.

"Please stop talking about me as if I'm not here," she said. "I might be new, but—"

"I'm afraid we shall have to leave the definitions for another time," Solas said before Cassandra could snap something back. "Suffice to say that I am a mage, and my travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, what we call the world of spirits. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach."

He turned to Cassandra, and his tone changed, as if reprimanding her. "If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin. You should know, the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but her magic is new and unstable, and it's hard to imagine her having the power to do this, let alone the ability to control it to such a degree."

"I'm not a mage," Errol protested.

"You most certainly are," Solas said, just as Varric scoffed: "Oh, so you just shoot fire out your ass as a party trick?"

Cassandra addressed Solas. "Noted, but she is still under suspicion. We don't know who she is or how she arrived in this world. We can deal with it later. We must get to the forward camp quickly."

Varric held up his hands. "Wait wait wait. If Sunshine here is a new mage, don't we have other problems now too? Like a demon possessing her?"

"Something else we can deal with once the Breach is closed," Cassandra said tersely. "That is all that matters."

"That doesn't sound like something I'd wait to deal with, Seeker," Varric said. "I've seen demon possession and I'm sure you have too. It is not a pretty sight."

"Don't worry." Solas sounded like his words were meant to be soothing. "I'll keep an eye on her. If worst comes to it, and she becomes an abomination, we could restrain, sedate, or even kill her."

"Thanks for the ringing endorsement," Errol said dryly.

"I said it could happen. I didn't say it was likely," Solas said. "Just stay closely grounded in reality until we have a chance to speak more about this."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning don't converse too much with spirits," he said. "Though they may try and speak with you."

Varric shivered. "Good advice. Can we go now? Bianca is ready and raring for a fight." He smiled fondly over his shoulder, and after a brief moment Errol understood.

"You named your crossbow Bianca?" she asked, inordinately excited for something that finally seemed to make sense. "Do all weapons have names? Can I name mine?"

Solas made a noise that might have been covering a laugh.

Cassandra cleared her throat. "Varric…"

"Seeker—"

"I was going to say that your help isn't needed but I simply don't have the time to argue to with you. We'll discuss this more once the Breach is sealed."

"Aw, Seeker, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

"Don't push your luck." Cassandra turned her back on them and started to walk. "This is what I get to work with: A barefoot apostate, a girl who can't tell Andraste from a dragon, and _Varric_. Maker help me."

Errol followed in her wake, the staff heavy in her arms. "What the hell is an Andraste?"


	4. Sacred Ash

**AN: I'm posting frequently now to get to the good stuff quicker. Then the rate of posting will slow.**

**Love is appreciated! **

* * *

**Chapter 3: Sacred Ash**

"Here, let me help you with that."

Solas plucked the heavy staff from Errol's arms. "What are you—" she started, but her words died when she felt his magic flare ever-so-slightly.

"Just concentrate on what I'm doing. It's quite simple." He placed the staff against her back and with a gentle _pop_ of magic, the staff stayed in place. "I'm going to pull my magic back," he said, "and you use yours to take over."

"How—" she started, but his magic was already receding and she scrambled to find hers and keep the staff there. It started to slide off of her back, and she snatched at the magic indiscriminately and suddenly it was suctioned on so tightly it was bruising.

"Ahhhh!" she yelped, and released, and the staff thudded to the ground. Varric snickered.

Solas seemed disheartened. "You used magic so naturally in combat, I assumed…"

"Hey Sunshine, how old are you?" Varric asked. Errol raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Twenty-five. Why?"

Varric nearly hooted with laughter. "Twenty-five-year-old mage can't hold a staff to her back? Whoever sticks around long enough to teach her has their work cut out for them. Provided she doesn't get possessed first." That thought seemed to sober him.

"Will you _please_ stop saying that?" Errol asked irritably.

"Sorry, Sunshine, but you can see how it's a bit unnerving."

"You frightening her isn't helping, Varric," Solas said, bending to retrieve the staff. He pressed it once again to her back and used his own magic to hold it there. When she protested, he shook his head. "It's a small enough expenditure to make sure that you're not exhausting yourself needlessly. When you need it, it will release."

Errol forced a smile. For some reason she felt like she was on the verge of tears. "Thanks." Then, needlessly: "It's been a rough day." She tugged the hood back over her head and followed Cassandra's snowy footprints down the hill.

Varric tagged along close beside her, and she could sense penitence in his very closeness, though he said nothing to indicate it. When she caught him watching her, he only fingered her windbreaker and said: "Weird material you've got here. Nothing I've seen before."

"It's waterproof."

"No kidding," he said, impressed. "We should try to duplicate it."

"Maybe just try for an actual coat that covers your whole chest first before trying to duplicate something from out of this world," she snarked, and he laughed.

"Touche." A beat. "The forward camp should be around the next corner. You ready to face the music? It might not be pretty."

Errol hesitated. "I guess I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"I'm here with you," Varric said, and she knew that was his apology. She smiled down at him and felt Solas' thin hand on her shoulder, his magic calming the heavy knots in her stomach.

"You are the only one who can close the rifts and you are innocent of any charges laid at your feet. We will not let you die."

"Thank you," Errol said, so sincerely that she almost choked up. "Both of you." She took a deep breath. "Let's go."

* * *

The confrontation with Chancellor Roderick left her shaken, despite his silly hat. She wanted to shout to everyone, _Can__'__t you see I__'__m trying to help! _but with the exception of Cassandra, Leliana, Varric, and Solas, it seemed that they all wanted her in chains, and even Cassandra and Leliana were still on the fence about that, even after she closed the second rift on the mountain path. Now they were headed toward the Temple of the Sacred Ashes, where the Conclave had been held, things Errol only tangentially understood but knew were Big Deals.

The biggest rift was there. The Breach. And they were expecting her to close it, now, when her energy and emotions were almost run dry, when all she wanted to do was sleep and sleep and wake up from this terrible dream in her apartment in Seattle. The last rift she closed sucked out the remaining remnants of her energy, and her legs were so weak after the battle she had actually leaned on Solas for part of the walk to the temple. He had said nothing, but she felt his energy (someone had called it mana) seep into her, making her feel more alive and less like a battered doll, as did the bitter-tasting potion he had given her to drink.

Still, she genuinely feared closing the Breach would kill her, but what choice did she have? She was likely going to die for a world that hated her for something she didn't do, and that she knew nothing about, all for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She wanted to cry, but she wasn't sure if that would make her feel better or simply more exhausted, so she held it in.

_Hurting, hunted, haunted, tears will make you break, must stay strong for now,_ a voice whispered to her from across the expanse. Errol, remembering Solas' advice and Varric's warnings, tried to shut the voice out, but it was persistent.

_I__'__m not a demon! _It sounded affronted. _Need to show you, make you understand. Can__'__t come now, too soon. You fear you will die now. You won__'__t. Beeping, buzzing, static air, constant tears, man hangs on the wall, stakes in his hands, blossoms in the breeze, will she wake? Here already changing, testing, pushing, slipping through cracks, facade won__'__t last long. You try to be the Owl but there is the Butterfly inside, fragile, fluttering, flailing, so easily to break if the wings are even lightly touched.__They, you, see what they, you, want. For now._

_You__'__re not making any sense! _she thought back, despite herself.

_Soon,_ was all she heard in reply. _Not a demon. Neither are you. Don__'__t forget that._

"Errol?"

She snapped back to reality to see Solas looking at her worriedly. She had been walking on her own for over a mile now and it had been even longer since the elven mage had said anything to her. Even Varric was quiet in the face of the upcoming battle. "Yes?"

He approached her and lowered his voice so the others couldn't hear them. "Your energy slipped momentarily into the Fade. You weren't conversing with spirits, were you?"

"No," Errol said immediately, and knew that he spotted the lie. He said nothing, just wrinkled his brow and stepped back, and she wondered if she had already broken his fragile trust.

When Errol finally glimpsed the Temple, the breath hitched in her throat. It was a nightmare come to life: broken down to its foundations, still burning, bodies flayed yet somehow preserved in their final terror, their leathery hands up in fear or supplication. Red stones rose jagged out of the ground, and they glowed with a dangerous, ghostly aura. Above it all yawned the Breach, the hole in the sky, and below it but still achingly high a rift, the biggest she'd seen, a moving monstrosity of green crystal.

"Holy Mother of God," Errol whispered as they stepped over the broken stones and around the agonized faces of the dead. "These poor people." She swallowed a lump in her throat. "I've never seen anything like this."

"Neither have we," Cassandra said, sadly.

"Whatever did this was pure evil," Errol said, stopping near one corpse, its hands covering its face in despair. Varric restlessly tugged on her arm.

"Don't stare at them too long, or you'll never sleep again." He looked around. "And don't touch the big red stones. I assume you know that's Red Lyrium, Seeker."

"Yes," Cassandra said in a clipped tone.

Varric's voice dropped even lower, rumbling from deep in his chest. "But what's it _doing _here?"

"It's hungry," Errol said, dazed, and no one even seemed to question how she knew that.

"Yeah, Sunshine, it is," Varric said darkly. "Pray it never starts talking to you." He looked at the yawning chasm above them. "The Breach is a long way up."

There was the sound of boots on stone, and Leliana rounded the corner, followed closely by a group of scouts.

"You're here!" she exclaimed, sounding deeply relieved. "Thank the Maker."

Cassandra greeted her with a cursory nod. "Have your men take up positions around the Temple." She looked at Errol. "This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?"

Errol looked her in the eyes. "No," she said frankly. She knew she looked how she felt - dirty, bloodstained, battered, almost broken. There was a crusted cut above her brow and her hands were shaking. All of the cursing, the sarcastic jabs, the fight had gone out of her. Still, she sighed and pulled the staff from her back, feeling Solas release his small magic that held it there. She looked around at the corpses surrounding them, felt the hunger of the red stones, thought about all of the people who might be sucked into the hole in the sky if she - small, nothing, silly Errol Kerr from boring Seattle a universe away — did nothing. "But I'm going to do it anyway."

Cassandra nodded, and there was something in her eyes that changed, like she had seen Errol's thought process in that brief moment and not only understood, but approved.

"This rift was the first, and it is the key," Solas said, apparently perfectly calm in the face of world-ending danger. "Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach."

Errol gripped her staff. "Let's get this over with."

They started to make their way down the broken stairs to the ground floor, directly below the hanging, shifting glob of crystal. As they got closer Errol's hand flared and burned, sparking higher and higher like fireworks. She grit her teeth against the pain, determined not to cry again as she had so many times over the past few hours (_had it really only been a few hours? It felt like years. It felt like she__'__d been cold and weary and beaten forever)._

She thought of the voice she heard through the void, the one that sounded like a young man. It said she wasn't going to die, but what would it know? Maybe it was a demon, despite its protestations. She'd like to believe in it, though. It sounded kind.

Another voice rang out across the silent remains of the fortress: a woman's, echoing like it just bounced off of a thousand cliffs.

"_Someone help me!"_

Errol crouched, immediately on her guard, but a second later she heard her own voice, sharp with confusion and anger._ "__What the hell is this? What are you doing to her__… __stop it!__"_

"That was your voice," Cassandra said, her voice awed and almost reverent. "Most Holy called out to you. But…"

Suddenly a vision coalesced in the crystal - an old woman bound by magic with a huge, malevolent shadow looming over her. And there, in the corner, was Errol - she was on her hands and knees, but her jeans were still untorn and unbloodied, her french braid still neat, and her face a mask of confusion and horror. Behind her was a shifting green portal, and through it blew a few lingering cherry blossoms.

There was no mark on her hand.

"_Run while you can!__" _the woman screamed, twisting in her bonds. _"__Warn them!__"_

The shadow looked at past-Errol and present-Errol felt ill. _"It seems w__e__'__ve pulled through a bit of filth from one of the places beyond. Capture her. I want to hear how easily I can take her world for my own.__"_

In a blinding flash of light, the vision vanished.

Cassandra spun on her. "You _were_ there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?" She stopped her rambling when she saw that Errol was bent over a ledge, vomiting up the last of the meager remains in her stomach, her shoulders shaking.

"I don't remember!" she croaked when she could finally speak again. She stood and wiped the back of her mouth with her hand. "But you heard that monster - my world is in danger too! We have to stop this! If I'm the reason that my world — oh my God…" She leaned over the ledge and retched again.

"Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place," Solas said softly. He rummaged in his pack and handed her a glass vial. "To settle your nerves. Don't fear, this creature hasn't found a way into your world yet. That would require taking ours first - to cross into another world, especially a world not naturally inclined to magic, in any significant way would require a vast amount of power, which It does not yet possess. Close the Breach, and you close off Its potential access to your world."

Errol accepted the vial with murmured thanks and drank from it. It tasted better than the last, like mint, and made her stomach feel less like it was trying to claw its way up through her lungs. "That will cut off my access to my world as well, won't it," she said. It wasn't a question.

"One way, yes," he said, surprising her. "But I will research. There might be another road that can access your home, a place where one soul could slip across but a dark creature like this could not follow, and we could seal it behind you."

"Thank you," she said again. "You're very kind to a stranger like me."

"You have the potential to save us all," he said. "If I am not kind to our savior, who should I be kind to?"

"Has the potion worked?" Cassandra asked, both worried and restless. Errol straightened and nodded.

"I'm fine now. Solas, how do we close this thing?"

He smiled approvingly at her, just for a moment, and then his face returned to its clinical impassiveness. "This rift is not sealed, but it is closed - albeit temporarily. I believe that with the Mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side. Are you ready?"

Errol nodded. "Ready."

"That means demons!" Cassandra yelled to the surrounding soldiers and scouts. "Stand ready!"

Errol held up her hand. _For this world._

Power shot out of her palm and the crystal burst open. Almost immediately a huge, scaled, electric creature burst from it, its laughter a bone-rattling boom.

"Focus on the rift!" Solas shouted.

"We'll cover you!" Leliana yelled, loosing arrows.

Errol kept her arm steady, the now-familiar pulling sensation stronger than ever. She narrowed her focus down to nothing but the pain and the power and will to push the poison out of her body and into the massive rift. Spirits crowded around her, fearful but encouraging. _For my world. For my family._

The demon's electric whip came down hard on her back and brought her to her knees, but the spirits threw up a barrier spell that cushioned most of it. She felt their hands on her, the lightest of brushes, urging her on, swirling around her like her own personal hurricane. Outside, as if from far away, she heard cries of pain. _For the people who are dying so that I can do this. _She thought of Solas' gentle voice, of Varric's solid and comforting presence, even Cassandra's fierce devotion to protecting others._ For everything I've lost._

_For everything I've found._

The pain poured out of her, as did her energy. She felt thin and insubstantial but she couldn't stop, not yet. It wasn't done yet. She felt as if people were calling for her, telling her to stop, that it was too much, that there wasn't enough of her, and then—

The shock wave rippled out, blasting the spirits away from Errol, and everything went white.


	5. Nobody Expects the Inquisition

**Chapter 4: Nobody Expects the Inquisition**

'_What happe— need a doctor — heart rate just dropped — we're losing h—'_

The dream faded into nothing. It was warm here, the light around her honeyed and yellow. Errol snuggled under the covers, glorying in their weight despite the bruises that ached all over her body.

_Did I fall while hiking? _she thought sleepily, grasping at a pillow and pulling it closer. Her pajamas were so soft, like pure cotton. _Must have slipped in the river. Shouldn't have been in it in the first place. If it wasn't for the Northern Lights, I wouldn't have—_

The river. The Northern Lights.

The Breach. Rifts. Demons. Magic. The Fade. The blast.

Errol's eyes flew open and with a huge gasp she sat up. _No no no! _It wasn't a dream. She wasn't in her studio apartment. She was in a cabin covered with animal pelts and an elf - another freaking elf - dropped his box of something breakable and was staring at her like she was the devil come to life.

"Noooooooooooo," she whined in a small voice, flopping back down on the bed and wincing as she thumped the bruises on her back. "It's not possible, it's not _possible_."

"I am _so sorry, _my lady,_" _the young elf said, terrified, as if he was personally responsible for everything that had happened to her. "I wasn't supposed to wake you. I wasn't! And now—"

Errol cracked her eyes open. "I'm not convinced yet that I'm awake," she said crankily. "And please calm down, you're freaking me out. I'm not going to eat you."

The elf fell to his knees. "I said the wrong thing! I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant. You are back in Haven, my lady."

Errol sat up, and the room spun a bit before steadying. "So I'm… not in prison," she said carefully. She stretched out her left hand and noticed that the pain had all but subsided.

"Oh no!" he said, still sounding oddly scared. "They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It's all anyone has talked about for the last three days."

"Ah, no wonder I'm starving."

"There's food by your bed, my lady, and once you've eaten you're to see Lady Cassandra at once. She's in the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor."

"The angry one with the silly hat," Errol said, looking over and taking a piece of still-warm bread from the bedside table. "Not looking forward to that. Now what is a Chantry and where would it be?"

Silence. She looked back, but the skittish elf was gone.

"This place is weird," she muttered, taking more offerings from the plate. "Good cheese though."

As she ate she explored the room. There was a small washroom with a rudimentary toilet, which she used gratefully, mourning the lack of running water or hand sanitizer. After emerging, she found her jeans, t-shirt, underwear, sports bra, socks, and windbreaker clean and neatly folded on a chair. On top of them was a small package with a note pinned to it in a looping, elegant hand.

'_This was found in your coat. I'm afraid whatever technology that causes it to work ceased functioning when you crossed over, but perhaps with the right magic…'_

It was signed _Solas_. Errol tipped the package into her open hand and found herself staring at her ipod and electric blue earbuds. She clenched them tight in her fist, feeling her hand shake. A little something of home, even if it was broken.

Next to her old clothing was a stack of new clothing, with its own note in a different, courser hand: '_Wear this.__'_

She shook out the clothes and laid them on the bed. There were heavy animal-hide pants, a thin but deceptively soft and warm dark green long-sleeved shirt embroidered in gold thread, and a long, tan coat with a high collar that flared down to her calves. She wasn't sure what it was made of - it bent like leather but was tougher than anything she'd ever felt, and knew instinctively that a bullet wouldn't cut through it.

"Bendy armor," she said, marveling. "So they can make bendy armor but not anything waterproof. What a society."

There were also soft leather fingerless gloves and knee high boots and a snug cap, as well as various pins for her hair. There was even makeup, which Errol immediately disregarded. It felt weird enough to parade herself out there in these otherworldly clothes, she wasn't going to paint her face as well.

There were undergarments too, but after deliberation Errol kept her own, as her sports bra seemed much more comfortable than binding her breasts. She also kept her own hiking boots, as they were broken in and molded to her feet. It occurred to her, as she shrugged on the tight pants and cloud-soft shirt, that she really must not be a prisoner anymore. A prisoner wouldn't be given armor.

After brushing and pinning up her surprisingly clean hair (she shuddered to think of them bathing her while she was asleep), Errol ate the last of the food and drank huge mouthfuls of cold water. Did they have toothbrushes here? She'd have to ask. All the little things she'd taken for granted before.

Finally, she couldn't put it off any longer. Errol tucked the broken ipod into her coat pocket like a talisman and faced the door. She put her hand up, inches from it, arm wavering, and struggled to move forward. _You have to go out and face them. This is real, Errol. Remember what Dad said. It__'__s kept you alive so far. Be the Owl. Be bigger and stronger than you are. Don__'__t let them see your fear._

Her hand didn't touch the door, but it opened anyway with a blast of wind that made her stagger back. _Oh, right. You can do magic now. _

That made her feel better, somehow. And worse. Mostly better.

She stepped outside of her cabin, expecting to see hordes of angry eyes like she had the last time, but instead there was nothing but stillness. If she had been worried about how to find the Chantry those fears dissipated and were swallowed up in a feeling far larger and far less definable.

The entire population of Haven stood in rows on either side of her, creating a path from her cabin to the large building on the other side of the courtyard. They stood silently, reverently, their heads bowed, only a few whispers breaking out as she passed.

"Is that her—?"

"The Herald of Andraste—"

"She closed the rift—"

"Saved us all—"

"Herald—"

"Savior—"

"They say she came from another world—"

"Herald—"

The whispers started to grow and become oppressive as the crowd inched forward. Errol had the sudden fear that they were going to reach out and touch her. She tucked her head into her chest and started to sprint toward the wide double doors, slowing only to throw them open as the crowd's rumbles turned to shouts.

She slammed the doors shut behind her and leaned against them, panting, the sounds muffled once again to near-silence.

What _was _that? She guessed it was better than outright hatred but it was creepy.

Errol looked up, flyways already coming undone from her pins and curling around her face. She was facing a long, empty hallway, and at the end of it was a door, through which sharp, familiar voices echoed faintly.

_I guess that's my cue_, she thought, wrapping her fingers tightly around the ipod in her pocket. _Come on, feet_.

Straightening, Errol lifted her chin and marched down the hallway, only hesitating for a moment before rapping sharply on the door and opening it.

Chancellor Roderick spun on her, his face red. He looked a strange combination of angry, frightened, and smug. "Chain her!" he snapped immediately to the two guards lingering by the doorway. "I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial."

The guards hesitated and looked to Cassandra. She waved her hand. "Disregard that, and leave us."

They bowed, fists over their hearts, and complied, closing the doors behind them.

The Chancellor leveled Cassandra with a glare that was meant to be intimidating. "You walk a dangerous line, Seeker."

Cassandra acted like he hadn't spoken. She still looked tired, but stronger, her back straighter, her eyes bright with renewed determination. "The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it."

Errol interjected before the Chancellor could spout more bile. "I'm still a suspect?" she asked incredulously, encouraged by Cassandra's strong demeanor. "Listen, Ministry of Silly Hats, you _do_ know I literally fell out of the sky, right? I don't know any of you people enough to even want to hurt you. And I just helped your Breach problem with my magic hand. What more do I have to do to get you to believe me?"

The Chancellor snarled, actually snarled at her. "You absolutely are. And about this _other world _nonsense everyone has been spouting—"

"No, she is not a suspect," Cassandra snapped. "And we do have reason to believe she is from a world not our own."

Some tightness behind Errol's ribs relaxed at Cassandra's proclamation. _Finally, they__'__re starting to get it._

Leliana stepped forward, her tone deceptively light. "Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone the Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others - or have allies who yet live."

The Chancellor sputtered for a satisfyingly long time. "I am a suspect, and the prisoner is not?"

Errol bared her teeth in the parody of a smile. "Doesn't feel good, does it?"

"I heard the voices in the temple." Cassandra's voice was shining, almost reverent. "The Divine called to her for help. It's possible the Maker even called her here. Why else would she appear, pulled through the Breach from another world, perhaps another universe, in our time of need?"

"Because she helped orchestrate it? You think her survival, that thing on her hand, is the Maker's will? You think he let the Divine _die_ so this little foul-mouthed creature could live?"

"Perhaps she is the savior we need."

Errol couldn't help herself. "I'm not going to disagree with you being on my side, that's great, but… now I'm a savior? When we first met you nearly ripped the hair from my head. I actually think I have a bald patch. It still hurts."

Cassandra looked suddenly unsure, her dark eyes wavering when they caught Errol's. "I was wrong. Perhaps I still am. I will not, however, pretend you were not exactly what we needed when we needed it, despite your… oddities. Even your surprising mage powers were a blessing in disguise. That must be more than coincidence."

Leliana's voice was soft, almost coaxing. "The Breach remains, and your mark is still our only hope of closing it."

The Chancellor stepped between them. "This is not for you to decide! She is coming with me now and there's nothing—"

"Will you shut your mouth?" Errol said loudly, and could almost feel herself ruffling her feathers, puffing herself up. She was done with this argument. "There is a hole in the sky. Your world could literally end, and your rambling about trials and petty shit? I'm not even from here and I get that this is a Big Deal. Either help us or get out of the way, but I am going _nowhere _with you."

The Chancellor looked at her with loathing. "And _this_ is what you call the Herald of Andraste? You little—"

Cassandra slammed a book on the table. It was a huge tome, leather bound, an eye wreathed in flame in the middle. "You know what this is, Chancellor?" she hissed, stabbing her finger at it. "A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act." She raised her voice and turned her finger on him, bringing it so close to his chest that he backed up. "As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval!"

His mouth hung open. Then, with a loud _clack_, he closed it, and the Lord Chancellor roughly pushed Cassandra's arm aside and stomped out of the room.

Errol let out a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding. Part of her had still expected them to hand her over to him and lock her back up in chains. She wandered over to the table and let her fingers brush the book's leather binding. It was handmade, and beautiful, and oddly warm, as it was alive. She halfway expected the flaming eye to blink at her.

Leliana came up behind her, her footsteps silent against the stone floor. "This is the Divine's directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos." She exhaled softly. "We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support."

"But we have no choice," Cassandra said firmly. "We must act now. With you at our side."

Errol turned. They were both looking at her.

Cassandra held her gaze, her mouth pressed into a thin, serious line. "Help us fix this before it's too late."

Errol looked between them. The room was cold, and quiet, the stomps of the Chancellor's footsteps having long since dissipated. She thought of the feeling of the rifts, jagged tears in the fabric of the world, and what would happen to these two strong, desperate women if those tears pulled and pulled until it all came undone.

She took a deep breath. "Here's hoping the word 'Inquisition' has better connotations here than it does in my world. At least one thing it has in common is that no one expects it." Blank looks. Errol sighed. "And no one in this world will ever get my jokes." She reached out her hand. "Okay, I'll help, because I'm not a heartless monster and because hey, magic. But I warn you: I have limited fighting skills, no control over my magic, and no knowledge of even the name of the world we're in right now."

Cassandra took her hand, her fingers warm and calloused. "It's Thedas. The country is Ferelden. And believe me, we're aware. We're just glad you speak the common tongue."

Errol cracked a grin. "I know, weird, right? I'll need to get up to speed, fast." She didn't let go of Cassandra's hand, just gripped it tighter, the smile slipping from her face. "And you need to promise me that when this is all over you'll help me try to find a way to get back home."

Cassandra nodded stiffly. "If there is a way, we will find it."

The two women assessed each other before finally releasing hands.

"Welcome to the Inquisition, Herald," Leliana said, relief in her light, musical voice.

Errol turned to her. "Oh yeah, and there's that. What exactly is a Herald of Andraste, and why are people calling me it?"

* * *

Snow was falling again, soft fat flakes drifting hazily down from the sky. They landed feather-light on Errol's cheeks and dissolved almost immediately. Despite the snow it wasn't that cold, and she found the crisp air refreshing.

She sat on a low wall outside of the Chantry, watching the recruits train. Now that they had spied their first glimpse of her things had gone back to a semblance of normal, though they knew she was there. Every once in a while someone wouldn't be able to help themselves and would sneak a peek, and the Commander would thwack them over the head.

It was still early, but it had already been an exhausting day. After agreeing to join an organization she knew nothing about, Errol had been whisked away to meet the rest of the team - Josephine, the gentle noble who apparently loved ruffles, and Commander Rutherford, who seemed stern enough that she didn't address him by his first name, even in her own head, despite the fetching fur he wore over his armor. They had sat with her and patiently explained the basics - Andraste and the Maker, why she was considered the Herald, the barebones of mages, templars and the Fade, and a bit about Orlais and Ferelden and the various races. Apparently there were giant blue people with _horns_? It was enough to make her head spin.

They outlined a tutoring plan for the next month. Josephine would go over the history of Orlais and its nobility and relationship with Ferelden; Cassandra would hone her fighting skills and teach her about the Chantry; the Commander her tactical skills and the history of the templars; Leliana on basic potion making, the relationships between the races, and rudimentary reconnaissance work; Varric on the basics of how to function in the world (how _did_ people brush their teeth, anyway?), and his experiences dealing with the recent historical events in Ferelden regarding blights and red lyrium; and Solas would teach her about the Fade and how to use and control her magic. Together, they figured they could create one semi-functioning human mage of Thedas. Only then would she be ready to travel to someplace called the Hinterlands to meet with someone named Mother Giselle.

Errol sighed and unconsciously stretched and shook out her hand. The _maybes_ and the _someones _were driving her crazy. How could she ever be what they expected her to be, this Herald of Andraste, symbol of a God she had never heard of and didn't believe in?

"Does it trouble you?"

Cassandra's voice interrupted her thoughts. Errol looked up to see her standing a few feet away, a smudge of dirt still on her face from where she had slammed into a practice dummy.

"Everything troubles me," she quipped, and Cassandra glared at her, though there was no bite in it. Errol sighed. "The hand? It feels like pins and needles and a bit of burning."

Cassandra shifted closer. "That sounds… uncomfortable."

"It's no weirder than being here is for me."

"I see your point."

Errol moved over, and Cassandra hesitantly sat next to her.

"Should I sit somewhere else?" Errol asked, threading her fingers together. "I think I'm a bit of a distraction to the troops."

As if on cue, Commander Rutherford took the opportunity to knock the sword out of the hand of a gaping recruit.

"We can hardly call them troops," Cassandra said dryly. "And you are fine. They need to learn to fight amidst distractions, or else they will be dead in battle."

"I'll make a point to smile and wave, then, maybe do a little dance," she said, and Cassandra made a choking noise that was almost a laugh.

"_Don't._"

Errol snickered quietly. "I won't, I won't, don't worry."

There was a lull in the conversation. Cassandra seemed to consider her next words carefully. "We haven't been able to speak much yet. Are our worlds so different? I know that you lack magic and other races, but we share the human race, and a common tongue…"

Errol hummed a little as she thought. "It's very different, in ways I can't even begin to explain. For me, this is like going back in time hundreds and hundreds of years. Because we have no magic, we've been forced to make technological advances, and we really have."

"Such as?"

"We're cleaner."

"Ah."

"Not to be rude. We just are, because we can pipe hot running water through every building. Also, we have flying machines. And devices that can communicate over long distances. Still getting used to this whole 'horseback and ravens' thing. And flush toilets. The internet, ohhhh the internet. Television. I'll never know how House of Cards ends. Anyway. Very excited about the magic."

"Don't be," Cassandra said sharply, though everything she said sounded sharp. It was the accent. "It's not something to be envied in this world."

"It would be in mine. We have nothing else. It's-" She searched for the right word. "Flat." That wasn't the right world.

Cassandra dwelled on this. "Perhaps we will never understand each other. I'm sorry we can't give you… flush toilets."

"That's okay, I can burn people with a thought. Much better." Cassandra's lips thinned. "I'm joking! Is it not coming across? Sorry. This is awkward. I'm very out of my depth."

"_That_ I can see."

There was a pause that went on a few breaths too long.

Errol cleared her throat. "So about that Breach…"

"Yes," Cassandra said, latching onto the new topic. "You've given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed - provided the Mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by."

Errol's mouth twisted into a skeptical scowl. "I believe Solas referred to my power as 'unstable.' Multiple times. Now you want to give me more?"

"We are still working out the details, and until then Solas himself will be teaching you how to control your fledgling mage abilities. The last thing we need is for you to become an abomination."

"Yes, as everyone keeps reminding me, that would be _the worst._"

Cassandra frowned. "You still fail to grasp the seriousness of the situation."

"Something riding around in my skin, getting inside of my head? No, I understand, and I'm appropriately terrified. But what do you expect me to do, start tearing what remains of my hair out? I need to keep my eyes forward. I need to laugh so I don't cry."

Cassandra looked a little ashamed. "You're right. You have an… unorthodox way of viewing the world, but you are not simple minded. We both need to learn to understand our differences."

"Am I interrupting?"

The two women looked up to see a slightly winded Commander Rutherford standing in front of them.

"Not at all." Cassandra stood immediately. "I'll speak with you later, Herald."

"Of course," Errol said, and Cassandra turned and briskly walked away.

"I hope it wasn't anything important," the Commander said, resting his hands on his sheathed sword. "It's just that the recruits are breaking their fast and it's time for your first lesson."

Errol stood and stretched. "Of course, Commander. Lead on."

She followed him inside to the empty war room. He pulled two chairs up to the grand table map and said, rather abruptly: "You don't have to call me Commander. You're not a recruit. Cullen will do."

"Oh." Errol gnawed on her lower lip. "Okay, then."

He settled into his chair. "You seem to call everyone else by their first names. I'm just surprised I'm the one you felt deserved a title."

"Everyone else can take it. You seemed like a title kind of guy."

He gave her a half-smile. "What about Cassandra?"

"I'm trying to soften her up. Keep up a feeling of camaraderie. I wasn't sure if I could do that with you."

"We could try," he said, earnestly, and she looked at him with surprise. "You are the only one who can close the rifts, an integral part of the Inquisition, the _Herald of Andraste_. As your advisor and teacher, it would wise to also be your friend, if you'll let me."

Errol was momentarily taken aback, but then she grinned. "I'd like that, Cullen." His name sounded strange on her lips. "But in return please don't call me the Herald. Just Errol."

"I will try," he said seriously. "It's strange, you're not how they said you'd be."

She raised an eyebrow. "And do I want to know?"

"Probably not." A beat. "Wild. Feral. Foul-mouthed. Uncultured."

She held up her hands in supplication. "I get it, I get it. It's all an act, you know. It's easier, when I'm scared, to just act angry, to not let them see…" She trailed off, surprised by how much she revealed. _Where did that come from?_

He nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. We do what we must in the field to stay alive."

Errol was suddenly struck by the color of his eyes, a warm amber. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed before. Actually, he was very handsome, with wavy, dark golden hair and a strong jaw. She clenched her hands into fists on her knees. _Aw, shit. _She hated noticing that people were attractive. Especially when they were older men who were out of her league.

"How old are you?" she asked abruptly.

"Thirty-five." He seemed taken aback. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious." The answer sounded lame in her own ears. _Too old for you, _her brain scolded. _Too stern. He__'__s from another world and you__'__re at war, Errol, you idiot. _"I'm twenty-five."

"Yes, I read in Leliana's report." He was still looking at her oddly.

She shrugged. "Ok then. So. Right. This is a big map we have here. Where do we start?"

He turned his gaze to the war table and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, yes, the lesson. First of all, I really should explain in detail the intricacies of mages and templars and the Circles to you…"


	6. Fade, Fair and Foul

_**AN: Yes, I know the mark can't keep the Herald from getting possessed, as we see in-game if you go the templar route. But Solas has his reasons for saying what he says. Basically, this fic should just be called 'Shhhh: Solas has his reasons.'**_

_**So happy to be past the beginning of the game phase! Now we're really moving!**_

* * *

**Chapter 5: Fade, Fair and Foul**

The lights are hot and spin in brilliant colors - first blue, then purple and red - and the air is heavy with the scent of spilled beer and body odor. The music thumps through her bones, and her dry throat is sore from screaming the lyrics.

'_Cause baby now we got bad blood  
You know it used to be mad love  
So take a look at what you've doo-one  
_'_Cause baby now we've got bad blood! Hey!_

It all feels familiar, like it's happened before. In front of her Jules is scream-singing as well, her brown hair a frizzy halo around her head in the humidity. She has on the tiniest dress imaginable and high top sneakers, and no shame, her mouth open in a huge grin. She'll try to take a hot investment banker home tonight but end up puking in Errol's bathtub instead, but Errol isn't sure how she knows that.

Errol looks down as sweat drips into her eyes. She's wearing a cropped white tank top that shows off her red bra, a tiny skirt with neon sneakers, and her lips are painted scarlet, like a return of the early 90's. She likes the style - it shows off all the right parts. She's twenty-four, and it's been too long since she and Jules went dancing like this.

_Now we got problems  
And I don't think we can solve 'em  
You made a really deep cu-ut  
And baby now we got bad blood! Hey!_

Now Jules is studying for her LSATs and Errol is working full time at a soul-sucking corporate job, and the only thing that drove them from their respective holes is the flyer Jules found on campus that proclaimed a "Shitty Pop Music" night at a local club. Their mutual secret weakness. Her father would be horrified to find out she liked Taylor Swift and Katy Perry. Her mom had to sneak her to a Backstreet Boys concert when she was thirteen by claiming they were going to a special mother-daughter puberty class.

_Did you have to do that?  
I was thinking that you could be trusted  
Did you have to ruin what was shiny?  
Now it's all rusted_

They sing as loud as they can, clasping hands, twisting hips together, performing a little for the guys who linger on the edges and watch. Jules is smaller than she is, her skin a dark olive, lovely and delicate, a face Errol knows as well as her own, her best friend since before they could speak. Suddenly she misses her, a pain sharp and fresh, and doesn't know why, since they are so close Jules' bangles are scratching the inside of her wrist.

_Did you have to hit me?  
Where I'm weak, baby I couldn't breathe  
And rub it in so deep  
Salt in the wound like you're laughing right at me_

"So this is how you spent your time before you came to us."

Everything in the room warps and slows. The music stops. Jules' face is frozen, her mouth a wide 'o' as she is caught mid-word.

A shiver ripples through Errol's spine as she turns to the source of the voice she had not expected to hear here. "This is a dream," she says flatly, trying to hide the sadness in her voice. "It felt so real."

"That's because you are in the Fade. It projects memories."

She sees him now, cutting through the crowd smoothly, as if they aren't there, his tunic and bare feet out of place among the jeans and suits. He is inspecting everything with great curiosity.

"The music comes from nowhere. Interesting. The sound is like nothing I've heard, and distinctly unpleasant… due to being unaccustomed to it, I'm sure." Solas examines the bar. "Is is certainly different from our version of taverns. Is dancing in your world always so… lascivious?"

Suddenly Errol is furious.

"This isn't your memory to go poking around in, or judging!"

He looks contrite and makes a small bow. "You are correct, I am being rude and judging a culture I know nothing about and intruding on a personal memory with your lover. Perhaps we can move to a location where you might be more comfortable and more… clothed?"

Errol flushes. "As you said, you know _nothing_ about my culture. This is perfectly acceptable. And she is not, was not, my lover."

He raises an eyebrow. "So in your culture it is 'perfectly acceptable' to writhe against another woman you have no intention of bedding?" He looks around. "Ah, it is intended for the males. Part of a mating ritual, perhaps?"

"We're not animals, asshole," she snaps. "It's called having fun in my world. How about _your _mating rituals? What are the mating habits of elves, hmm? Since we're all animals here, maybe we should call it rutting instead?"

His jaw clenches slightly. "Point taken. My apologies, Herald. I should know better than most not to make quick judgments of other cultures."

"And yet you do."

"I did apologize."

Errol takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out. "Fine, let's go. Just promise me never to use the word 'mating' in front of me again."

"I'd expand that deal to include 'rutting' as well. Awful word."

Errol smiles despite herself. "Fine with me. Let's go."

With one glance back, she follows Solas through the crowd. The music starts back up and the crowd keeps dancing, oblivious to their departure.

Now they are in a forest, the grass thick and soft under Errol's bare feet. She is silent following him through the dense trees, the nighttime air heavy with the scent of jasmine and pine needles. Above her, the sky is cluttered with stars, too many to count, and the moon hangs low on the horizon.

She realizes that they are both wearing robes, long and flowing but somehow not impeding their movements. Errol's hair is loose around her shoulders but braided at the front to keep it off her face. She feels taller, straighter, lighter, and she cuts through the air like a fish through water, barely making a ripple.

They reach a clearing, but Solas doesn't stop until he is in the middle of it. When he does turn, it is languid at first, more relaxed here than in the real world, and then he stiffens in shock and his eyes go wide.

"Fascinating," he breathes, and steps closer to her. "Are you doing this for my benefit?"

Errol takes a step back. The look in his eyes makes her uncomfortable. "What are you talking about?"

He lets out a soft _hmm_ noise. "So you did it unknowingly. You shaped yourself into a reflection of this part of the Fade, of _me_, without even being aware."

Errol looks down and fingers her robe. Her bare toes seem longer than usual. "You mean my clothing?"

"Far more." Solas waves one hand and a hovering mirror appears. Errol peers into it, and sees her own face staring back at her, only her neck is longer, her eyes greener, flowers braided into her hair, and her ears…

"I'm an elf?" she breathes, unable to believe her eyes.

"You were just in your part of the Fade, in your memory, and modeled yourself after that image," he explains. "I helped pull your sleeping mind into a safe area of the Fade that I cultivated, and in doing so you not only followed me but somehow modeled your appearance after me. Perhaps your subconscious thought that this would appeal to me more?"

She blushes furiously. "I wasn't trying to _appeal_ to you in any way," she says, her tone a little too harsh. He puts his hands behind his back and regards her mildly.

"That's why I said _subconscious_. It is unusual, however - in fact, I've never seen it done before. Those who enter the Fade in their dreams usually retain their own appearance, unless enacting one of their own memories, as you were before."

"Well, change me back."

"I can't. Only you can."

Errol scowls. "I don't know how."

He shrugs elegantly. "Then for now you will have to be an elf. I assure you it's no great tragedy. The elves have a rich history. You should feel honored to have this opportunity."

She looks at him flatly. "Now think about how you'd feel if I repeated that exact same sentence back at you with the word _human_ instead of _elf._"

Something flickers behind his eyes. "It's not the same."

"I'm just saying… think about it."

Errol reaches up and touches the sharp tip of her elongated ear. It's highly sensitive. She rubs her thumb along it and half-closes her eyes, smiling slightly. "You know, this is actually pretty nice."

Solas' soft cough gets her attention. She opens her eyes to find him staring at her with a strange look on his face. "You should… you should not do that while in this form," he says, clearly uncomfortable. "It's uncouth."

She drops her hand. "Oh, sorry."

There is an awkward pause that goes on for far too long as Solas looks pensively at the woods, the sky, anywhere but at her. Errol twists her fingers together, noting that they are longer and more elegant. She always hated her hands - normally they are square and blocky, better for chopping wood than playing guitar.

"Solas," she finally says, and that laser-guided attention is back on her. "I had my first lesson with Comm- with Cullen today. He told me about the Circles, and what templars do."

"Yes," he says thoughtfully. "It's a horrific system. At its gentlest a mage sits staring at the same walls their whole lives with an invisible leash around their neck. At its worst they are brutally killed or stripped of their magic and emotions."

"He sounded regretful." She chews on her lower lip.

"Something's on your mind?" His voice is gentle, like the first time they met, when he reassured her that her world was still safe across the void.

"He mentioned a Harrowing. He said that… to prove I wouldn't be possessed, I would have to go through something similar."

"No." Solas' answer is swift and sharp. "You won't do anything of the sort."

She looks up, surprised. "But… that seems to be everyone's worst fear. Mine too, really. That some demon might get up inside me, take me over…" She shudders. "If I have to pass some test to keep that from happening—"

"A Harrowing is a barbaric practice that you will not be subjected to," he says firmly. "It breaks down the mind of the mage, makes them terrified of the Fade, makes them more pliable, distrustful, weaker. It takes from them the shades of grey and makes the world black and white. I would not have that happen to you."

"Then, what?" Errol asks. "We just cross our fingers and hope that no demon takes a shine to me?"

Solas moves closer, surprising her enough that when he reaches for her left wrist she almost takes a step back. He turns her hand over and traces the wicked green scar with his finger.

"This magic is very old," he says pensively. His touch is light but still activates something inside of the Mark, and tendrils of green flare and wrap around his hand. "It guards you well. I theorize that any demon who would attempt to possess your body would find itself burnt out before it could take its first breath with your lungs."

Errol is finding it hard to breathe herself. There is something strangely intimate about the way the magic in her hand is winding its way up his arm, as if welcoming him, as if it knows him. "You theorize?" she finally rasps. "You could be wrong."

He hesitates, then carefully releases her hand, as if loathe to watch the magic go. "I rarely am."

Errol forces a smile. She feels shaky, and she's not sure if it's in a good way. "And so modest, too."

"If it makes you feel better, I also know of an amulet that would keep demons from entering your mind," he says, stepping away, his hands once again behind his back. "Though to have some interaction with them would be worthwhile. It's all a learning experience. It would mostly be for the benefit of your advisors. I believe they would sleep better at night if they felt you were adequately protected."

"I'd sleep better too," she says, and he gives her a secretive smile.

"Why? For the foreseeable future, whenever you are asleep, you will be here with me. There is a lot to learn."

Suddenly Errol is excited. In all of the strangeness she had almost forgotten. "Yes! Magic! Let's do this!" She opens up her hand and a staff is suddenly in it, just there as if it has been there all along. The Fade swirls along her skin like cool water with the edge of lightning.

He looks mildly impressed. "Your enthusiasm does you credit," he says. "As does the fact that you grew up in a world without magic, yet show no fear of spirits or the Fade. Your abilities seem to be tied to your emotions, which is why you were able to conjure fire and electricity in the heat of battle but not even the simplest spell when calm. So," he waves his hand and her staff vanishes, "I think we will have to concentrate on concentration for now, and channeling your newfound power in healthy ways."

Errol groans. "Don't tell me you're going to go all Mr. Miyagi on me."

Solas settles onto the soft grass in a lotus flower position. "I won't be distracted by your incessant references. I know they're meant to frustrate me. First, we calm our minds. Then, we will discuss theory. Sit."

Errol _hmphs_, but sits. She expects to see his eyes close, but he is smirking at her. "What?"

"I'm simply marveling that it's been twenty whole minutes and you haven't said 'fuck' once."

"Now _you__'__re_ trying to frustrate _me. _Fuck you."

"Ah, I shall have to reset the counter to zero." He settles back and closes his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. Errol wonders if that is part of his plan, to get her riled up before she is supposed to meditate. "Now clear your mind."

_Bastard._


	7. Safe Haven

**AN: So the Fade is always in present tense. Hopefully that's not as confusing to read as it is to write. It's a bitch to write, let me tell you. My brain does not want to make the switch.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who's favorited and followed this story, and the few lovely people who have reviewed. I'd love to see some more reviews, especially as we get into the meat of this weird journey. Oh yes, it gets weird. So weird. I'm so excited to post more I have to sit on my hands to stop myself from posting early.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Safe Haven**

"Ugh!"

Dirt and blood filled her mouth as Errol slammed into the ground.

"Stop trying to fight with your hands," Cassandra critiqued, standing above her. "The staff is your weapon. Use it."

Errol spat red and used the fake staff to hoist herself back up. The talisman Solas had given her swung from her neck, yanked free by the fall, and she saw Cassandra eye it with approval before she tucked it back under her clothing.

"I told you, if I'm trained in anything it's self defense," she growled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Hand-to-hand combat, Taekwondo, MMA."

After two weeks, Cassandra was used to her babble enough to not question it. "And I'm telling you that we have to break you of that training. If you are out of mana and an enemy gets close enough to you that you have to fight, the staff is your defense and offense. You will only use your hands if you lose the staff." She crouched, practice blade in one hand, shield in the other. "Again."

This time, Errol managed to deflect the sword with her staff and sweep her leg out, but Cassandra expertly jumped and brought the metal edge of her shield to Errol's throat. "Dead," she said. "But it was a good move. On a less skilled opponent, it might work."

Errol nodded and wiped sweat from her brow. "Okay. Let's go again."

"I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today," a sweet voice interrupted, and Errol turned to see Josephine breaking away from a small crowd of onlookers that included Cullen. "Oh Herald, look at the state of you," Josephine cooed, taking her arm and leading her away. "However are we to teach you about history and nobility with blood all over your face and clothing? I'll prepare a bath and fresh clothes immediately."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise but turned away. "Later, then, Herald."

"Count on it," Errol called back. "I'll beat you before the month is out."

Cassandra smiled, just a little. "Now _that_ is impossible."

* * *

Cullen arrived in the war room several hours later to find her dozing, her head on the vast map. Josephine had put her in a warm green dress and plaited her hair in two thick braids on the sides of her head that met in the back. He paused, watching her in an unguarded moment, her chest moving gently in and out, before she sensed someone in the room and lifted her head sleepily.

"Oh, Cullen!" She sat up, and the difference between her now and a few hours ago, bloodied and sparring with Cassandra, was startling. The color of the dress enhanced her green upswept eyes and made them look darker, and rest, food, and activity had made her lips and cheeks pinker. Her hair was bright and soft, the color of cornsilk, and small clouds of it were already coming undone from her braids to curl prettily around her cheekbones. He stared, a slow flush creeping up his cheeks. Was this really the scared, foul-mouthed little half-dead wildcat who had stabilized the Breach?

"The dress is weird, right?" she asked, smoothing her hands along it. "I mean, it's pretty, and the fur trim is really soft, but it feels weird to be in a dress here. Josephine said nobles are going to start coming to meet the Herald. Me." She cleared her throat and looked at him in distress. "Help."

He laughed softly, stepped inside the room, and rubbed the back of his neck while staring down at the huge map of Orlais and Ferelden that lay spread before him. "It's a very nice dress," he said. "But you're right, it's not appropriate to wear around Haven on a daily basis simply because some noble might stop by. We should be prepared for battle at all times."

"Is that why you're in armor all the time?" Errol leaned back in her chair. "It's all I ever see you in. I can't imagine you without it."

Cullen's eyes widened fractionally at the thought, but she didn't seem to notice the double meaning in her words, and he relaxed. "It's… important to be prepared."

He noticed that she sat like a man, her legs relaxed under the length of the dress instead of ankles looped delicately like the ladies here, and wondered if it was another cultural difference. Solas' talisman lay on a chain around her neck; usually tucked under her clothing, the silver diamond-shaped pendant was visible just over the swell of her breasts. He looked quickly away. "You're a decent fighter for someone who comes from no formal training. Where did you learn?"

"Oh, you saw?"

"I've seen other days, too."

Errol grinned. "Sneaky." He didn't look at her so she continued. "My dad was really paranoid. His sister was killed when they were teens, back in Scotland. That's a country in my world." Now he sat and watched her speak. "He left shortly after that, moved to the US, the country where I was born. Married a Dutch-Korean army brat, though I know you don't know what any of those words mean. I have her face shape, her eyes, his hands, his temper. I don't know why I'm telling you these things."

Cullen mulled this over, thinking of the words he didn't understand. There were still so many of them peppered throughout her speech. "Maybe you just need someone to talk to."

She looked a little nervous. She always looked a little nervous around him. "Maybe. Anyway, I was his first kid. A girl. He wanted me to be safe in a big bad world so he had me take fighting classes, shooting classes, everything. He just wanted me safe."

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you. Your world seems incredibly technologically advanced. Perhaps, if we could come to understand some of that weaponry, it might give us an edge in this fight—"

"No."

Cullen looked over, surprised. Errol was sitting ramrod straight, her hands clenched tight over her knees. "Why not?"

"You're already tearing your world apart and you want more firepower?" she asked incredulously. "No. You have magic. That's your weaponry. That's what you get to kill yourselves with. That and swords and trebuchets. That's it."

"But—"

"No buts," she said firmly. "I will not see gunpowder turn into rifles turn into AK-47s and landmines on the field in this world. I will not be responsible for that." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Cullen, I know you want to win this war. We did once, too. Imagine a weapon that could cause an incident like the Conclave, whenever you want. Whole cities leveled. Except it's worse, because there's also chemicals that are carried in the wind, infecting everyone for hundreds of miles, killing them slowly from the inside."

Cullen stilled. Just what was her world? "Maker's breath. How have you not destroyed each other yet?"

"We're at a stalemate. If one fires, the other retaliates, we all go boom."

"That can't last forever."

"No, it can't. We don't need magic. We're killing each other just fine without it. I won't add to that, not even in the smallest way, because we started like you, and we ended like us."

"Point taken," he said, then, softer, "I had thought perhaps your world a happier place."

"I think in parts it is," she said, tracing a mountain ridge on the map with her index finger, her hand perilously closer to his. "But it has its fair share of war, poverty, and death. Just no demons. I was lucky enough to be born in an area that was safe and clean, where I could go to school and be treated equal to men in a lot of ways."

"That is lucky." He moved his hand. "Had you been born here with your magical talent, you would have been confined to a Circle from a young age."

"So I hear." She looked at him, clearly troubled. "What about you, Cullen? What was being a templar really like?"

"I'd… rather not discuss it right now."

She looked upset, and he couldn't blame her. Here was someone who suddenly knew magic, and all she knew about the world was that templars locked up and hunted down mages. She had never seen an abomination, she didn't know what they could do. She didn't know what he had been through, and he couldn't imagine telling her. Not now.

Suddenly, her eyes glazed over, just for an instant. Then she blinked, looked at him, and she didn't seem upset anymore.

"Okay," she said simply. "If you ever want to talk about it, let me know."

"All right," he said, uncertain as to what had just happened but relieved. "Now, we should probably resume where we left off on tactical advancements in the field. Did you draw up the examples I asked?"

* * *

Her father is wearing padding over his whole body. "C'mon, hit me as hard as you can!"

She giggles, her hair in pigtails. "Daddy, I don't want to hurt you!"

"I'm not Dad, I'm a bad guy!" He makes a face. "Now hit me hard, like we practiced!"

He grabs for her. She hits him hard in the solar plexus, then stomps his foot and kicks him in the balls. "Don't forget to scream!" he says. "Get angry! Howl like a wolf. Screech like an owl! Show him you won't be hurt!"

She screams, screeches, hits him, and he smiles.

The overhead light is flickering. Errol presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose and groans. She's told the tech guys about that damn light a thousand times now.

The computer glow is bright in the dim room, and Errol realizes she is the last to leave again. Sighing, she gathers up her stack of paperwork and her empty lunch bag and logs off, before shrugging on her coat and tote and heading out into the packed city streets toward the bus stop.

Standing on the crowded bus, she stares blankly ahead, her headphones pumping a tinny version of Florence &amp; the Machine into her ears.

_Regrets collect like old friends, here to relive your darkest moments  
I can see no way, I can see no way  
And all of the ghouls come out to play  
And every demon wants his pound of flesh  
But I like to keep some things to myself_

The streets are emptier now and the city air is stale and smells like exhaust. She only has Taekwondo classes on the weekends now; she's too tired during the week, too worn out, and she's started getting headaches, her eyes strained from staring at the computer all day. She drops her bag by the door of her studio apartment and kicks off her shoes. She's too exhausted to cook. Chinese tonight? Everything looks so grey. It's raining outside. She can hear it pattering on the windows. It's always raining in Seattle. She's always here. It's always raining.

It's so desperately empty she wants to scream.

"I think I understand."

She gasps, and there a brutal, beautiful knife-edge moment when she doesn't know what's happening. Then understanding washes over once again, like it always does now, and she straightens.

"You understand what?"

Solas is standing in the middle of the room, looking around at her tiny apartment, lightning illuminating the windows behind him. "Your father trained you in violence, a soldier without a war, and left you stacking papers each day. How could you fail but to be angry at the world?"

"You're not my therapist, dude, so stop trying," Errol snaps.

"Was that an insult?"

"Which part, _therapist_ or _dude_? Either way, get out of my head. I had a job, I had a life. That's all I could have asked for in my world."

"You had a job, certainly. Whether or not you had a life is debatable."

"Get. Out. These memories are private."

"You invited me in, however unknowingly. I can't go where I'm not allowed access."

"I don't believe you. I have no control here."

He cocks his head. His eyes look alien at times, and she is reminded that he really isn't human. "You have more control than you think."

"And you get off on being cryptic," she says, and he doesn't deny it, just shrugs elegantly.

"Maybe. Now, shall we?"

Errol isn't sad to leave this memory. It always starts like this: She dreams of home, and it's so real she can taste it, smell it, can't imagine it not being right there until he appears and suddenly its all false and flat and the Fade. He's seen more of her history than she ever wanted anyone to, especially him, with the way his words seem so often laced with thinly-veiled condescension, the way he believes that now he understands her and her world because of a few scattered memories.

Bullshit. He doesn't understand anything.

They are slipping away now, into another area of the Fade, a huge expanse of grassland lit by the gently rising sun, and as it shifts and settles around them Errol scrunches up her face and tries as hard as she can to retain her human shape. She thinks of her ears, smooth and rounded, her square hands roughened by training, her plump toes, how her bones and muscles and curves fit together on her body. _Human. _She can feel herself retain, _yes, stay, _even as the scenery changes, and she's confident this time it will work—

—_but then like always there's something else there, even now after three weeks, a subtle shift, a pressure, a push, an ache, what is it? like an itch she can't scratch, like whispers in the dark and she loses her concentration and—_

"Are you ready to begin?"

Errol looks down. Elf again. _Fuck._

"Is something the matter?"

"No." She takes a deep breath and conjures her staff. They stopped meditating last week and started the fun stuff. She won't let a little issue like the sheer horror of being in the wrong body distract her. She won't let him see how much it bothers her. "Let's get to work."

He stares at her, a small frown on his face, before nodding and brandishing his staff. "You need to work on your barriers," he says. "Combat is still your strongest suit, but even that is wild, unmanageable, expending too much energy. You need to _focus_, first on protecting yourself while expending as little mana as possible, then casting spells with accuracy and force without breaking that concentration. You can't just fling power around with abandon." She opens her mouth, and he sighs, looking deeply pained. "And yes, I know you're going to say I can't just fling _my face_ around with abandon. It still doesn't make any sense."

"Your face still doesn't make any sense," she mutters, then giggles a little at her own stupid joke. She likes making him frustrated. He's too serene and composed and damn smug; he gets in her head, he is somehow the reason she's in the wrong body half the time in the Fade, the least she can do is get under his skin.

"If you are quite finished," he says in a clipped voice, and then, without warning, attacks.

Errol barely has time to throw up the barrier, and it is weak and full of holes. His lightning spell blasts her back. "Again!" he calls, and continues battering her.

"Let me breathe!" she yells, trying to pull the energy up and around her body. _It should fit like a glove against your skin, _he had told her before. _No space for air, the barrier an extension of yourself. The closer the barrier is to you, the less chance someone will be able to slip past it._

"You won't have time to breathe in a battle!" he says, and she rolls out of the way just in time to avoid being singed by fire.

"Is this because I said your face doesn't make any sense?" she shouts, rolling the other way to avoid more fire.

"Possibly!" he calls, and when she looks at him he is actually smiling.

_He__'__s enjoying this! _Errol grins back darkly. _Not for long!_

She rolls one more time, springs up, and jumps, and as her bare feet leave the ground she feels the world slow and stop and she pulls the spirits around her —_a glove against your skin __—_ and the barrier comes in strong and tight. When she reconnects with the ground his ice spell feels like a gentle breeze and she gathers lightning on the tips of her fingers and fires right into his face.

He's gone, but her hand is still full of lightning that she doesn't release so that when he grabs her from behind, they are both electrocuted.

They stumble apart, and she can tell that he is surprised. Her toes tingle and her hair is standing straight up, but she laughs until she can't breathe.

"I knew you'd try to get past my barrier to teach me something about relying on it too much," she says, still laughing. "I know your tricks."

His clothing is slightly blackened by the force of the electricity, and he is clearly still shaking it off. "Hopefully not all of them," he says, and looks at her with an approval she hasn't seen before, and it makes her suddenly uneasy, and he takes a step towards her and then there is a knocking on her door and it is time to wake up.

* * *

The sunset was beautiful, glinting orange and red embers over the snow. It was crisp and fresh as far as the eye could see, clean mountains covered in pines, everything perfectly still except for the whirling void of the Breach she could just see out of the corner of her right eye.

"Ah, here you are. We were wondering if you'd been carried off by a wandering wolf. What are you doing up there?"

Errol looked down from her perch at the head sticking out of the window. "It's my last night at Haven and the sunset is beautiful." She was suddenly shy. "Join me? If you're not too busy."

Cullen hesitated, and Errol felt like an idiot. "Right, your armor," she said, shaking her head. "You couldn't climb out here in all that, silly me."

"Actually," he said, and swung out of the window, pulling himself up and over the ledge. In one graceful motion he was sitting next to her on the roof.

"Oh, you're… not wearing it," she said dumbly. He was wearing a tan shirt with dark pants tucked into boots and a long coat of deep red. Out of the armor, it was easy to see the lean lines of his body, how broad his shoulders were, the narrowness of his hips. "I like your… coat. It's… red."

She hated herself.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "You leave us tomorrow to go to the Hinterlands," he said, studiously not looking at her. "I thought that it wouldn't be terrible to be a bit more… relaxed as we celebrate the end of your training and look ahead to your next chapter as the Herald."

"Celebrate," Errol said in a monotone voice. "Woo."

"Not that I'm… we're not happy about you leaving us," he said quickly, finally looking at her. "We're all… well, we're worried about you. But you've learned much and we think you're ready. You can't stay in Haven forever."

"I know." Errol watched the people below. Cassandra was still practicing; it was like she never stopped, and she had a small crowd of recruits watching her admiringly. "I didn't beat her."

Cullen followed her gaze and chuckled under his breath. "I don't think anyone expected you would. She has trained her whole life, you know. Give it a year or ten, then try again. You'll be glad to have that experience at your back in the field. She'll keep you safe."

"Mmm," Errol made a soft noise of agreement. The setting sun threw a red halo around Cassandra's head; now she was talking to Varric, chiding him in some way, her fists on her hips, and he was holding his hands up in a very _who, me? _gesture. "I'm lucky to have them by my side."

"And we'll do everything we can here to keep you safe as well," he said, and she turned her head to see him looking right at her. His eyes were a very warm amber, darker now in the last of the evening light. She remembered what the voice had said to her a few weeks ago, the young man that still occasional spoke in fragments in her head despite the talisman that hung around her neck: _His blood used to run blue but now it__'__s just blood, and the nightmares come and he can__'__t stop them, he wakes sweating, scared, if he__'__s not a templar anymore what is he?_

She had been angry with Cullen before that, after everything she'd heard about what templars did to mages, but her anger had cooled. He wasn't a templar, not anymore, and there was clearly some deep struggle going on under the surface.

_Yes,_ the voice had whispered. _He hurts._

"I wish you were coming," she said, then quickly, before he could respond, "but I understand why you can't. Someone's got to keep things running around here."

"I think that would be Leliana, to be quite honest," he said, smiling his soft half-smile. "But yes, I… I wish I could join you as well. Sometimes being in the thick of it is better. It will be hard, waiting for news via raven or runner."

"I'm scared," she said suddenly, surprised by the admission.

"It will only be for a few weeks. You're more than capable."

"Oh no, I'll be fine," she said dismissively. "I'll have a warrior woman, a kickass mage, and Bianca with me. I'm golden."

"So what—"

"Demons, I'm okay with," she said. "Killing, I mean. Sealing rifts. But this mage-templar war. Bandits on the road. Humans. People. What if I… I've never…" Errol trailed off, feeling sick to her stomach.

She was surprised to feel his hand cover hers. "You'll be fine," he said soothingly. "Focus on the demons and the rifts. Let us take care of the rest."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but she nodded, enjoying the warmth of his hand. She knew there was nothing he could say that would help her, anyway. "Yeah."

"Do you play chess?"

The conversation whiplash took her a moment to process. "I, uh, yeah. I mean, back on Earth. Not sure if it's the same as your chess. I'm awful at it too, I haven't played in years, but I know the moves." She parodied a Knight moving with her left hand, her right still trapped under his. "The horsey makes an L."

He laughed at that, and she decided that she really liked his laugh. "Sounds about right. We'll play a game when you return."

She smiled at him. "Deal."

He smiled back, and the shadows fell cool over his face, leaving only the impression of him. "I warn you, I won't let you win."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

They stayed like that, his hand resting on hers, until the sun sank behind the mountains and the last of the embers and rubies went out, leaving only the moon, the stars, and the Breach.


	8. Everybody Hates the Hinterlands

**Chapter 7: Everybody Hates the Hinterlands (or alternately: No One Cares About Your Stupid Druffalo)  
**

They stared at him with incredulity. "You do know that this is the Inquisition," Errol said slowly.

The farmer nodded.

"And that I'm the Herald of Andraste, the only one who can close the rifts that are literally tearing the world apart."

"Oh yes, my lady, and we're very thankful for your service."

"And yet… you want me to find and return this… druffalo."

"Ms. Fluffybottoms."

"Excuse me?"

"Her name is Ms. Fluffybottoms. She only responds to it." He looked at her expectantly. "I'd be so grateful if you could return her to me."

Errol pursed her lips. "Give me just one minute," she said, and stepped away, dragging Cassandra with her. "Cass, tell me I'm not crazy, this is ridiculous, right? Why do people keep asking us to run errands for them?"

Cassandra rubbed her temples. "Yes, it is ridiculous, but we are still a fledgling agency. Word of mouth and acts of kindness are necessary to build our power base. If that means finding a farmer's druffalo—"

"Ms. Fluffybottoms."

"—Ms. Fluffybottoms, then so be it."

"There's a rift less than half a mile away. My hand is almost dragging me there. I have shit to do. We have recruits and scouts, right? I've barely seen them since we left Haven. Let's use them. I'm not going to _not_ close a rift to find Ms. Fluffybottoms."

"Keep saying Ms. Fluffybottoms," Varric said. "I like it."

"They've been scouting ahead. They're busy."

"Well unbusy them."

Cassandra looked at her hard for a minute, then nodded. "As the Herald requests." She walked off to a small grove of trees, presumably to speak with one of the scouts that always shadowed them from a discreet distance.

Errol turned to the farmer and gave him a huge fake smile and a double thumbs up. "We'll take care of it!" she chirped, before turning around and muttering under her breath, "asshole."

"Remind me who we're taking care of again," Varric asked, ambling by her side.

"I believe it was one Ms. Fluffybottoms," Solas said from her other side. Errol scowled at them.

"You're both just happy we don't have to do this one ourselves. I mean, come on, you thought having to find some broad's lost wedding ring in the middle of a war was just as silly as I did."

"Sentimental value can't be—" Solas started piously.

"Nah, she's right, it was dumb," Varric interrupted.

Cassandra returned. "It is done."

"One big hurrah for the future safe return of Ms. Fluffybottoms," Varric said jovially. "And what an epic tale it was. The Inquisition is surely a power to make men tremble."

"Oh, shut up," Cassandra snapped testily, but Errol was already laughing.

It had been a surprisingly quiet three weeks on the road. It was clear that there was a war going on, but they seemed to be traveling in its wake. They came across plenty of rifts and empty, burning buildings, and refugees, but no mages or templars. Still, the civilians seemed very happy to see the Inquisition, often thanking them profusely. Errol knew that they had soldiers scattered across the land, holding certain territories and keeping the people safe, so perhaps they were stronger than she or Cassandra thought.

They had already met with Mother Giselle and were now looking for a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. Leliana had taught her about the Grey Wardens, and the spymaster clearly felt very strongly about the role they played during the feared blights. The fact that Leliana was scared now that they had vanished - that _anything_ could scare Leliana - made it worth it for Errol to find the last remaining Warden.

She was dwelling on this when the rebel mages attacked.

Errol didn't realize they weren't demons at first. She simply felt magic being used against her, magic with the intent to kill, and her defenses sprang up and fire flooded her hands and ran into her staff until it was fully lit. She fired it off, one two three, as the rest of them sprang into battle, and it wasn't until she smelled cooking meat that her brain began to process that something was wrong.

She stilled, and her barrier faltered. A lightning spell cracked into her side and whipped up her face, knocking her down and leaving her skin flayed. Someone was above her, and for a moment she didn't move, the _smell__…_

"Fight back!" Solas screamed, as close to frightened as she had ever heard him, and without thinking she filled her hand with flames and shot them straight into the attacker's face.

The man - and it was a man, she was sure now - went down with a scream, and it was over.

Errol stood quickly, her head spinning, and stumbled away before any of them could make their way over to her. She rounded the corner of a broken down house and started to vomit. She was still downwind of that cooked-meat smell, and what horrified her was that it smelled like her mother's cooking, it smelled _good._

She retched a few more times.

"You've gotta stop puking all the time, Sunshine," Varric said when she finally stopped, her legs wobbly from the stress. "It's really not a great reaction to have on the field." There was thinly-veiled concern in his words.

"I… I just killed someone," she said, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her coat. She turned back to them, her eyes puffy and red.

"Three someones, actually," Cassandra said, crouching and rifling through the pockets of the dead with practiced ease.

Errol leaned against the wall. It was difficult to stay standing. She closed her eyes; she couldn't look at the bodies. "I killed people," she murmured, trying to wrap her head around it.

Suddenly she felt something cool against her skin. Errol cracked her eyes open to see Solas smearing some kind of white paste across her flayed cheek. He stood a careful distance from her, only the tips of his fingers touching her skin. He was always like that in the outside world: wary, quiet, unreachable.

"You did what you had to do to stay alive," he said softly. Then, louder: "This was bound to happen eventually."

Cassandra stood and approached them. "And all because we had to divert our scouts over a foolish request to find a druffalo."

Errol stared at them and no one met her eye. "What are you talking about?" Silence. "Am I talking to myself? Hello?"

"Eh, we should just get it over with," Varric said. He shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. "Listen, why do you think it's been so quiet these past few weeks? We didn't want you getting all broken up about killing people. We knew you were worried about it, so we sent scouts ahead to, ah, take care of the problem before we arrived."

"How did you know…" Errol trailed off, and her jaw tightened. "Cullen."

"Now Sunshine, don't go hating on Curly, he just wanted to protect you, we all do," Varric started, but she straightened and pushed past him.

"No, you just want to protect the Mark on my hand, and you don't think I'm strong enough to hold my own so you decided to lie to and baby me in the middle of a war," she snapped, furious. "How many of your scouts died protecting _my feelings? _Anything else you've been lying to me about? If there is, feel free to tell me all about it on the way to finding Blackwall_._"

She spun on her heel and marched away, past the bodies and the smell of vomit and meat.

* * *

It was damp and chilly that night. Errol huddled near the fire, shivering, her arms around her knees, and stared into the flames.

Suddenly a cloak dropped around her shoulders. "Here," a deep voice said, and she turned to find a bowl of broth being put into her hands. "You didn't eat anything at supper."

"I'm not…"

"I know what happened. You have to eat."

Errol said nothing, just turned back to the fire. After a moment, she reluctantly lifted the lukewarm bowl to her mouth.

"Good," Blackwall said, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as he sat on a stone a few yards away and started honing his sword, the sound a soft _swshhhh_ in the wet night. They had found him late in the afternoon, and after a brief skirmish with bandits, none of whom Errol had to kill (_but you did kill today, you burned them alive,_ a voice whispered nastily inside of her), he had joined the Inquisition readily. He was broad and rough from years of training and living on his own, his face nearly obscured by a thicket of black hair and a wild beard. His rolling accent was comforting somehow, and there was a thoughtfulness to his steady voice. He reminded Errol of some of her family back in Scotland. She liked him almost immediately.

They were quiet for a while as she slurped her soup. The rest of the team had already gone to bed. They'd avoided her that day, with good reason - she had been surly and responded to any attempts at conversation with grunts or one-word responses. The pressure inside of her chest was a hand, squeezing so tightly she could barely breathe, barely keep moving without breaking down. _You killed people today. Did they have families? Lovers? Is someone waiting for them at home? Is someone crying over them now? They were mages, like you. What if you could have talked them down, spoken to them first? What if__—_

"I thought," Blackwall finally said, as if reading her mind, "from what I've heard about the Inquisition, that you'd be used to killing by now."

Errol continued to stare at the fire, willing it to warm her bones. "Demons, yeah. Closing rifts. Not humans." She was silent for a moment, wondering how much to reveal. He was one of them now. What was the use of secrets? "My friends… they've kept that from me. Roamed ahead and taken care of the bandits before I could get there. I guess they thought they were doing me a favor, but who knows how many scouts and soldiers were killed because of my fragile ego?" She shook her head. "I've got blood on my hands now."

"You'll have a lot more on your hands before this is done, my lady," Blackwall said gravely.

"Does it ever get any easier?"

He shook his head, inspected his sword, continued whetting it. "No. But you learn to live with it. In a way. At least you learn to stop puking your guts up."

Errol groaned. "You heard?"

"I think everyone in the Hinterlands heard that retching." A beat. "Varric told me. Right when he told me not to fuck with you."

Errol was surprised. "Varric said that?"

"Said you weren't as tough as you look, but still the hero of the story. I take it he's a writer. I think I've even read one of his books. The detective one. Wasn't very good."

"Don't let him hear you say that."

There was a cranky yell from Varric and Solas' tent: "Too late!"

Errol couldn't help herself: she giggled. Blackwall smiled.

"Good to see some emotion on your face. Here I was starting to worry the famed Herald of Andraste was secretly a tranquil." He stood and sheathed his sword; Errol looked up at him, the warrior in the darkness, standing just outside of the firelight. "I saw you fight today. You took care not to kill anyone, and you saved a boy's life. I liked what I saw of the Inquisition, of you. That's why I joined. But sometimes you have to kill, and when that time comes, you have to be willing to do what needs to be done."

"It's not fair."

"No, it's not. But that's the way of it." He nodded at her. "Goodnight, my lady. Try to get some sleep."

* * *

Her mother is kneeling in front of her; they are both kneeling, and there is a spinning circle between them, and her mother's hands, wet and heavy with clay, are over her own small fingers.

"Careful now," her mother is saying, but it's spinning so fast. "Don't let it get away from you."

Errol wants to make a vase, graceful and tall like her mom can, but it's fat and lumpy even with her mom's hands guiding her.

"Smoothly," her mother croons. "Gentle, gentle."

She sticks her tongue out, concentrating.

"There," her mother says as the clay starts to even out, starts to become something beautiful. "See what you can do when you're as light as a butterfly?"

—_wings beating ceaselessly against a cage__—_

—_blood on the ground, burned smell in the air__—_

Errol looks up. "Mama?"

Her mother doesn't take her hands from Errols'; the clay is spinning faster and faster, breaking down, and it's starting to turn red. She points with her chin and Errol looks up to see the huge, fragile wings blooming from her own back, hovering above her, and at the bottom of them there is a dark swirl that looks like an owl's eye.

"They're only strong as long as you know who you are," her mother says serenely.

"What do you mean?" Errol asks, but there's no more whirring clay. Her hands are wet and warm and her mother's hands still cover hers but her fingers are clenched tight around the knife that protrudes from her mother's abdomen. Errol starts to scream as the blood gushes, too much blood, flooding all over the floor, sticky on her arms and body.

Her mother presses a bloody palm to Errol's chest. "Oh my baby girl, it'll be okay." She brings that hand around to clasp the back of Errol's neck, leaving a trail of hot red liquid, and leans in to whisper in her ear, oblivious to the knife in her stomach. "_They will change you, if they can. They will grasp at the very heart of you. Don__'__t let them.__"_

There's someone on either side of her now, familiar but she can't see their faces, and as one they each reach out to touch and her beautiful, beautiful wings crumble into a mess of scales and dust and blood and she's choking on it, choking on the blood and the meat smell and _she can__'__t breathe__—_

"Errol!"

Someone grabs her by the arms and pulls her into their chest, and she feels herself yanked away from the scene forcefully, as if it doesn't want to give her up. Suddenly she is in a glade by a stream, and the blood is gone and she's an adult again, and she is curled in Solas' lap with her head tucked under his chin.

"A nightmare," he breathes, pulling her closer to him. "It was a nightmare. You're safe now."

Errol can't help herself. She fists her hands in his tunic and starts to cry.

He lets her cry for a long time. He even strokes her hair, murmuring things in elven that she doesn't understand. His magic feels protective and safe and lacks that certain sharper aura that she often senses from him while in dreams, the one that warns her that there's something of an act to his daytime mild-mannered elf Hedge-mage image.

Luckily they're in the Fade so when she's finished his tunic is as clean as when she started. She pulls away, suddenly embarrassed by her outburst, but as if reading her mind he uses two fingers to turn her chin toward him and shakes his head.

"Don't be. You needed to cry. Better here than in front of everyone at camp."

She musters a smile, very aware that he is still touching her face. "Thanks."

He holds his fingers there a moment more before letting her go. "You are welcome."

Errol stands and stretches, feeling how long her body is, how close the sky feels. Here in the Fade, she could probably bring the sky down to her if she wanted. _But I can__'__t keep myself from being a damn elf all the time,_ she thinks, standing on her toes. Part of her likes it, the part that always felt too bulky and square and hairy, that shaved and waxed and looked longingly at models in magazines. The other part of her rebels, feels wrong in this fake skin, feels even more wrong because it _doesn't_ feel wrong, it feels like another aspect of her, a new skin, like trying on a new dress, and it's distressing how easy it is to leave her old skin behind.

When she is done stretching and stressing she turns to him to find him, as always, watching her. He doesn't watch her like this in the real world: thoughtfully, a bit calculating, like she is a puzzle he is trying to piece together. In the real world he barely looks at her at all, walks a respectful distance away, doesn't touch her unless it's necessary. Here he trades barbs to (she thinks) see her smile and he touches her freely: a hand on her elbow, a strand of hair tucked behind her ear.

There is still something missing, something critical that she doesn't understand, that she is so _close_ to understanding, and it makes her wary of him.

"Come with me," he says, and holds out his hand, and even though she is wary she takes it, because there is more than wariness in her feelings toward him, she's just not sure what yet.

The scene changes, and now they are standing outside of a small cottage. Everything is hazy and translucent, like watching ghosts, but Errol thinks she recognizes one of the villages they passed through earlier, except in real life it was abandoned, the homes aflame.

"Please," a woman is begging. She is standing in the doorway, her body a shield, and there is a little girl holding onto the edge of her bedraggled dress and peering out from behind her. "We can't leave our home, the men were killed and the templars have already taken everything we have, these four walls are our only protection, we won't survive out in the woods."

"You have nothing?" the man in front of her asks, and he smiles, a brutal, animal smile and lifts his staff. "You gave what you had to the templars. The least you could give to me is the blood in your veins."

The woman screams. Errol lunges forward as if she can stop him, but she passes through them and the images go up in smoke and are gone, and they are back in the glade again with nothing but the summer wind and the faint sound of crickets.

"That was one of the mages you killed today," Solas says from behind her. Her arms are still out, still grasping empty air, as if she can save the woman and her child. "I know you find it difficult to have your hands stained with the blood of another, but I thought that you should know that these are the men you shed tears over. If you want justice, this is what I can offer. If you wish for easy answers there are none. That is the way of the world."

Slowly she lowers her arms. Blackwall had said something similar. _That__'__s the way of it. _"It shouldn't be."

"You're right," Solas says, surprising her, and she turns to him. There's a contemplative look on his face. "But it is, for now. Perhaps it won't be forever."

She's about to ask him what he means when she feels spirit arms wrap around her from behind and the impression of an unseen mouth near her ear.

_Come, quickly, before you wake, the hurt isn't healed yet, _the young man's voice whispers. Solas' eyes widen, and he reaches for her but then there's a yank backward and—

She's human again, back in her own clothes and not the flowing robes she always wears with Solas, her feet in shoes, and she's at Haven in the war room. She knows, without understanding how, that it is the night before she left for the Hinterlands.

"I'm telling you we can't expend the resources!" Cassandra is saying hotly.

"Do you remember your first kill, Cassandra?" Cullen asks. "The first time you put your blade through someone's throat and watched the light fade from their eyes?"

"I was trained—" Cassandra starts.

"Yes, trained, like I was, from a young age, but it still hit you like a punch in the gut the first few times, didn't it? Maybe it still does. Now that girl, that woman, may be marked by Andraste or whatever that thing on her hand is but she is a civilian who has likely never imagined she'd be murdering people before breakfast. We don't know how it will affect her and she is our only chance at closing the Breach."

"You're very passionate about this subject, Cullen," Leliana says from her perch in the corner. "If I didn't know you any better I'd say you were letting your personal feelings become involved in your judgement."

Cullen runs an agitated hand through his hair. "I—no! I merely—"

"However, I agree with your assessment," Leliana says, surprising everyone. "I was once as she is — possessed of a certain innocence. I lost it a long time ago. She will lose hers too, and quickly. But as the Herald and the one with the Mark it would not do to have her breaking down in the field. We can spare a few scouts and soldiers to help clear a path."

"I agree with Nightingale," Varric says, and Cassandra swings on him.

"Who even invited you to this meeting?" she snaps.

"I'm going along too, aren't I? I figured we were all invited. It's not my fault Solas is off doing elf stuff. Plus, you get to know a person in a month. Errol's a good kid. Her world's not like ours. For all her bluster, she's soft underneath. And if there's a way to keep her from having to kill people for a little while longer, well, I'll take it."

"And put more lives in harms way?" Cassandra asks.

"They work for the Inquisition," Leliana says. "And they're my scouts. They know what they're getting into."

"I don't want her killing anyone," Cassandra says, sighing. "Obviously. But she won't be happy knowing others were endangered for her peace of mind. We could come to regret this decision."

"So we make sure she doesn't find out," Varric says jovially, slapping Cassandra on the shoulder. She pushes him away and stalks off. Varric looks at Cullen and Leliana. "Was it something I said?"

The scene wavers and fades. Errol tries to hold on to the vision of Cullen's figure, slumped shoulders and all, for as long as she can before he too dissolves into mist and she can see nothing but grey.

_They did it because they care._

Errol can almost see the spirit in the corner of her eye, but every time she turns he's just out of sight.

_You need them as much as they need you. There are expectations but also love, or the beginnings of love, like a family tied together by death and hope and death again. You are more than your marked hand._

"Who are you? Where are you? What are you?" she asks, frustrated, spinning in fruitless circles.

_A friend. Here. Not a demon._

"If you're my friend, let me see you."

_If they touch your wings they will crumble, the scales so delicate, the fierce O__wl's_ _eye only an illusion. __No, not yet! Not ready yet. What if you're scared? I'd have to make you forget. All of this undone, fine as sand in a sieve. No. No! I'll wait until you're close to waking. Then you won't be scared of me. Then you won't forget._

"Tell me your name, at least."

_Names have power, here._

"Please."

_Promise not to tell._

"I promise."


	9. That's Not Whiskey

_**AN: So as to clear up any lingering confusion, we're jumping ahead six months to move things along - we've now gained Iron Bull, Sera, and Vivienne, been to the Storm Coast, Val Royeaux and the initial meeting with the mages at Redcliffe, but haven't made the mage/templar decision yet.  
**_

_**This chapter contains drunken sex talk. I'm also bumping the rating up to M to be safe. You've been warned.**_

_**Thank you to everyone who favorited and followed! **_

* * *

**Chapter 8: An Elf, a Dwarf, a Qunari, and an Earthling Walk Into a Bar…**

"Another drink!"

The barman crossed his arms and glared at their table, the last one of the night, still rowdy and keeping him running for drinks. "Are you sure about that?"

"Aw, for shit's sake, the girl's had a tough couple'a months, give her another drink!" Iron Bull said, slapping him hard enough on the back to buckle his knees. The barman scowled and stomped away.

"I'm amazed she's put down this many already," Varric said, sounding grudgingly impressed. "What kind of alcohol do you drink in this 'Seattle' of yours?"

"My Dad," Errol said, drawing herself up proudly, "is a Scot. It was nothin' but fine whiskey from the Isles. Beer is like water to me, my tiny friend."

"Hey, who you callin' tiny?"

"You call me Tiny all the time," Iron Bull said.

"Yeah, but that's different, I'm being _ironic_," Varric said, and Iron Bull sniffed.

"It still hurts."

"What I'm hearin' is, we need to move on to the hard stuff," Sera said, grinning wickedly. "'S okay, this tastes like piss anyway. Who's with me? I've got this round, but Varric's gotta spot me 'cause I left my money back at my room."

"Of course you did, Buttercup," Varric said dryly as Sera hopped off her side of the bench and tottered unsteadily down the stairs.

"Wait, did we agree to this?" Errol asked hazily. "Is she actually bringing up shots?"

"Is that what you call them?" Iron Bull asked, taking a swig of beer. "Here we just call them really really strong drinks in really really tiny glasses."

Errol giggled and snorted and leaned back against Blackwall, who was sound asleep. She suspected he had been sent there to watch over her in this less than savory company, but he'd been exhausted from the weeks of hard riding and had fallen asleep after the first two drinks. Sera had amused them for a solid half an hour by balling up bits of paper and tossing them into his beard.

Errol was tired too, but she needed this. It had been a bad six months. From nothing but rain and death and giant spiders on the Storm Coast, to the shitshow that was Val Royeaux and Redcliffe, everything seemed to be going wrong. The templars hated her, the Chantry disowned her, the mages had sold themselves to the Magisters, and with the exception of a few others outside of the ragtag crew getting drunk with her in this cold tavern in the mountains of a world not her own, she had no one.

Still, she had to smile a little. They were a good ragtag crew. She had been startled when she first met Iron Bull bashing in heads on the Storm Coast, but his horns, blue skin and eye-patch soon became less important than the fact that he made her laugh and feel safe. And really, he wasn't any weirder than anyone else around here. Varric was a dwarf novelist with scary good aim and a silver tongue, and his storytelling soothed her when the voices inside became hard to quell. And Sera was like Puck, maybe more trouble than she was worth, but she had a freedom about her that Errol craved, and once she learned never to play practical jokes on a twitchy mage with a penchant for burning things, they got along fine.

Errol closed her eyes. Despite, or maybe because of the people around her, she had killed a lot more. It was getting harder to fall asleep. If it wasn't for Solas…

"Who's got driiiiiiiiinks," Sera's singsong voice floated merrily through the tavern. "Oy, all magical Herald lady, don't fall asleep on us, I brought you whiskey, see? Or at least, something brown in a glass."

Errol cracked open an eye and took the cup from her, sniffing it. She grimaced. "It's _not_ whiskey."

"Well, whatever it is, drink up!" she chirped. "You said earlier you could drink Varric under the table. I bet Iron Bull some of Varric's money and I don't want to lose."

"Hey!" Varric said with indignation.

"I," Errol finally said with great dignity, sipping at the swill in her cup, "wasn't sleeping."

"Oh yeah, Sunshine, then what were you doing?" Varric asked.

"Thinking about Val Royeaux and all of this… shit." She waved her hand vaguely, still relaxing on Blackwall like he was a hairy couch.

"Eloquent as always, Boss," Iron Bull said, tossing his drink back, not even phased.

"Vivienne's a bitch," Errol said suddenly, aggressively, and Sera almost snorted alcohol out of her nose.

"Oooo, looky, we're at the 'tell the truth' level of drunkenness!" she squealed.

"Don't, uh, maybe don't say things like that so loudly," Iron Bull said, a little nervously.

"Iron Bull, are you _scared_ of Vivienne?" Varric asked, laughing. Iron Bull growled at him.

"_No._" Then, again: "No, no, okay. Not at all. Is it time for another drink yet?"

"Another!" Sera proclaimed, sliding a glass over, and Errol found herself drinking something clear that burned terribly down her throat. Even Iron Bull grimaced at that one.

"So, lovely lady Herald," Sera said, grinning wickedly. "Who do you think would be better at it: Me, or Iron Bull?"

Errol was using her teeth to try and scrape the taste of the last drink off of her tongue. She looked at Sera blankly. "It?"

"_It,_ you know. Sex! Wait, you're not a virgin, are you?"

Errol shook her head and reached for her now-lukewarm beer. "No. I've had boyfriends. I went to college. Honestly? The whole thing was usually pretty _meh_."

"Boys always are." She bounced in her seat. "So, come on, me or Iron Bull, who would bang better?"

Errol made a show of thinking about it, her face scrunched up as she evaluated them. Iron Bull puffed out his chest and Sera fluttered her eyelashes and puckered her lips. "I'd have to say you, simply for the fact that I think if anyone but a Qunari fucked Iron Bull they'd puncture some internal organs and sex usually isn't supposed to end with horribly painful internal bleeding."

Iron Bull scoffed and crossed his arms. "You know you stretch down there, right? You push babies out of it. Trust me, there's room."

Errol giggled. It had been a long time since she'd had this much to drink. "So what are we talking about, like, width? Coke can?"

"Boss, you're speaking your gibberish again, but whatever you're talking about, it's probably bigger."

"Then, yeah, I'll stick with Sera. In this hypothetical that will never happen."

Sera pumped her fist in the air. "Yes!"

Iron Bull leaned across the table and leered at her. "You're making a pretty big mistake, Boss. With enough time and effort, it could be the best you've ever had."

Errol flushed.

Varric brought his beer stein down on the table with a loud _thunk. _"Okay, A: why am I being left out of this conversation, and B: why are we all of a sudden talking about sex with Sunshine? It's weird."

Errol laughed. "What, getting drunk doesn't make everything revolve around sex for you? What do _you _talk about when you're drunk?"

Bull settled back into his normal position, looking pleased with himself. "It's just harmless conversation, Varric. Plus, anything I say to her goes for you too." He winked.

Varric shook his head. "Ok, nevermind, I don't _want _ to be a part of this conversation. In fact, I'd leave if I wasn't so worried about leaving her drunk alone with the two of you."

"Aw, but Blackwall is here!" Errol said, patting his chest. "The Grey Warden will protect my honor!" Then she laughed again, gleefully, because it was _so funny._

As if on cue, Blackwall let out a snore, and they all laughed so loudly that they didn't hear the clunk of boots coming up the stairs.

"What's going on— oh for Maker's sake!"

Everyone hushed as if they had been discovered doing something very bad. Suddenly no one would look at Errol - Sera was fascinated by something in her glass, Iron Bull was contemplating the beams on the ceiling, and Varric was fiddling with Bianca. Errol finished another strange, dark brown drink that tasted like sewer water and watched the room spin pleasantly.

"Oh, Curly, hi," Varric said without looking up, as if he had just landed there without any idea of how it had happened. "I'm afraid you came at a bad time. We were about to head out for the night."

Cullen huffed and pried the glass from Errol's fingers. "The sun will rise in three hours. How much did you all _drink_? And Blackwall—what did you do to him? To his _beard_?"

"He's just sleeping," Sera said, giggling madly. "He fell 'sleep a looong time ago."

"If anyone had seen the Herald like this—"

"I'm fine," Errol insisted. "I just need to make it back to my cabin." She stood, unsteadily, and suddenly the floor was swept out from under her and she was cradled in armor-clad arms.

She finally looked at him, and noticed with a surge of nerves that his amber eyes were far too close for comfort. "Are you all right?" he asked. "When we realized that your cabin was empty… we thought you would have returned hours ago." He turned away from her to glare at the others. "We _thought_ you were in the care of _responsible _people."

"Aaaaaand that's our cue," Varric said.

"Yeah, places to see, people to go," Sera said, standing abruptly and almost falling down.

"I'll get Blackwall back to his cabin," Iron Bull said, the only one of them who seemed completely sober. He leaned across the table and lifted the sleeping Blackwall so gently that he didn't wake, then slung him over his shoulder and carried him down the stairs, Varric and Sera tiptoeing behind him.

"I'll talk with all of you tomorrow," Cullen said sternly.

"Cullen," Errol said softly, and he turned back to her. She found herself petting his fur mantle and twining it through her fingers; it was very soft. "Don't be mad at them. I asked them here tonight." She knew her words were a little slurred.

He sighed. "Maker's breath, Errol, why did you drink so much?"

She leaned her head against his armored chest. "Because I was sad."

He said nothing, just hoisted her higher in his arms and started down the stairs. She tried to nestle into him but it was all sharp edges under the fur.

"Why are you in your armor at this time of night?"

He opened the front door with his hip. "Because we couldn't find you. I couldn't take it off until I knew you were safe."

"Oh," she said as a blast of cold air hit them. Her teeth started to chatter. He pulled her closer.

"Your cabin's not far. Don't fall asleep just yet."

"Mmm," she said, starting to fall asleep. He jostled her.

"I mean it."

She opened her eyes just as they rounded a corner and Solas came into view. It looked like he was walking from his cabin toward hers. When he spotted them he froze, and for an instant he gave Cullen the iciest look she had ever seen him give anyone. Then she blinked, and it was gone.

They approached, and he fell into step next to them. "Might I inquire as to what happened here?"

"Sera happened," Cullen said shortly, and Solas' shoulders relaxed.

"Ah." He sniffed the air. "Alcohol?"

"A lot of it. What are you doing out here at this time of night?"

"I usually teach the Herald in the Fade while she sleeps. This was the first night I was unable to find her. I grew worried."

"You still do that every night?" Cullen sounded surprised.

"Yes. There's a lot to learn." A pause. "Does that upset you?"

"What? No. Not at all."

"Ah. Glad to hear it."

The atmosphere was very strange, and if Errol had been sober, she would have been taken aback by it. As it was, she was only half listening, concentrating more on how cold she was and how Cullen's mantle tickled her cheek.

They finally reached her cabin, and Cullen gently maneuvered them through the doorway so she wouldn't hit any part of her body. He sat her on the edge of the bed.

"Are you going to be all right?" he asked. She nodded at him and forced a smile, the room still spinning.

"I'll be fine. It's not my first rodeo."

He looked very confused by this.

Solas gently touched her forehead and shook his head. "She'll be ill before morning. Stay with her for a few minutes, Commander. I'll return with potions shortly." Without waiting for a response he vanished back into the night, the door closing behind him.

"I'm fine!" Errol insisted, swaying. Cullen sighed and knelt in front of her to undo the laces of her boots. She tried to kick him away but he grabbed her heel. "What are you doing? I'm fine!"

"Why are you sad?" he asked.

"What?"

"Back at the tavern, you said you did this because you're sad." He finished untying her first boot and eased it off of her foot before starting on the second one.

"Oh." Errol was quiet for a moment, then said in a small voice: "They hate me."

"Who hates you?"

"The Chantry. The templars. The mages."

"So this is about what happened at Val Royeaux and Redcliffe?" He removed her second boot and put them to the side, then raised himself up on his knees so that they were eye-to-eye. "That would have happened regardless. The templars are out of line, and the Chantry is floundering and leaderless. The mages were insane to hand themselves over to the Magisters. It's not you."

"How do we know? I'm not one of you, and they know that. They threw it in my face. If you were led by someone stronger, someone from your own world, who they would accept, this would all be _better, _you deserve someone _better_…" To her horror tears started to clog her throat.

"_You _are who we deserve," Cullen said firmly.

She gave him a sad smile. "Then you must have been very bad."

"I'm serious," he said, bringing up one hand to gently brush hair from her eyes. "You've proven yourself already, a hundred times over. You've kindness and bravery, and you're a skilled mage with strong convictions. It's _good _that you're not from this world. Because you were not raised in violence and death, you see it differently than we do. You work hard not to kill because you understand that every life is valuable. You aren't tied down by the burdens of an entrenched belief system, leaving you to be a free agent and follow your own path. You perhaps see things more clearly than any of us do. We've lived this life for too long, the smoke and flames are all we can see. You— you can see the forest that will grow once the fire has been put out."

She stared at him, a tightness in her chest threatening tears if she so much as breathed. He dropped his head. "And you're probably too drunk right now to remember a word I'm saying."

"I'll remember," she said, and put a hand on his cheek. "Cullen." He looked at her, and she moved her hand from his cheek to his hair, running her fingers through it. "I like your hair, it's very soft," she said seriously. "And you have pretty eyes."

He looked shocked for a moment, then laughed a little and shook his head. "All right, it's time for bed."

He eased her, fully clothed, under the sheets, and plumped the pillows before she put her head down.

"Cullen," she murmured, half asleep. "You're—"

Solas reentered, bearing two small glass vials, and stopped when he saw their positions. "Apologies for the interruption," he said stiffly. Cullen stood and Solas took his place; Errol felt him lift her head and put a vial to her lips.

"This will help with the dehydration," he said as she forced herself to swallow the bitter concoction. He held up the next one. "And this is for the nausea."

"I don't—"

"Drink."

She drank.

"Good." He recapped the vials and stood. "You won't dream tonight, and you'll sleep for a long time. Eat lightly when you wake, even though you'll be hungry, and drink plenty of fluids."

"Yes _mom_," Errol muttered into her pillow. He turned, but she flailed out her hand until it caught his. He stopped abruptly - they so rarely touched in the real world.

"Thank you," she murmured sleepily, squeezing his hand.

"I— you're welcome," he said. Then, more gently: "You can let go now."

Her fingers slipped from his hand and her breathing evened out. Solas turned to Cullen.

"I believe she is asleep, as we should be, Commander. Shall we leave her in peace?"

"Yes," Cullen said, finally looking away from her sleeping face. "Thank you, Solas, you were a great help tonight."

"Don't thank me, Commander," Solas said as he walked out the door and into the night. "Nothing I did this evening was for you."

Then he was gone, leaving Cullen with a feeling in his stomach that he very, very much did not like.

* * *

"I must admit, when I went looking for you today I didn't expect to find you here."

Somehow Errol wasn't surprised to find Leliana lurking outside of the barber's little office in Haven's Chantry. She raked her hair back with one hand, still marveling at its lightness. "Do you like it?"

Leliana tilted her head. "Did you ask for it to look like that, or does the barber just hate you?"

"Ouch."

"Luckily, hair grows back," Leliana continued, unperturbed. Errol frowned.

"You know, if most people don't like someone's haircut they just lie."

"I am not most people. You presented a softer image with longer hair. You must remember that as the Herald of Andraste you are a religious icon to many people. You should have consulted with myself or Josephine before cutting it."

Errol glowered. She was still a little hungover, and a headache pounded behind her eyes, but the worst was that she remembered _everything_ that had happened the night before, including asking Iron Bull if it was "like a Coke can" and being carried like a baby back to her cabin by Cullen before telling him that he had soft hair and pretty eyes.

_Ughhhh what he must think of me,_ she thought, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Out loud, she said: "I didn't realize when I joined the Inquisition that I'd signed my every body part over to you. Please forgive me for this vast oversight." Sarcasm dripped from her every word.

She liked her new hair. She needed something that was easier to keep clean and out of her eyes in the field, so she had gone for a very short, tomboy bob - so short that everything below her earlobes was buzzed, and the top was just long enough that she could pull it into a small ponytail at the back of her head or leave it down to frame her face.

_New day, new woman_, she had told herself, but Leliana was only frowning at her.

"You look like Sera."

"Oh come on, that's just rude. She cut her hair with a butcher's knife! At least I went to an actual barber! And look - no bangs!"

She didn't smile. "Shall we walk, Herald?"

Errol was suddenly deeply uncomfortable, and her headache worsened. "Okay," she said, putting her left hand in her pocket to grip her iPod reassuringly.

They walked out of the Chantry via a back exit and into the chilly air in silence. It wasn't until they were on a lonely path well out of earshot of anyone that Leliana started to speak.

"I heard you had quite the night last night."

Errol coughed nervously. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"No." Their footprints left fresh tracks in the snow as they circled Haven from a distance. "I am here to advise you, Herald, and as your advisor I would recommend you choose your company more carefully."

Errol stopped walking. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that your actions and the company you keep reflects not only on yourself, the Herald of Andraste, but also on the Inquisition."

"Let me guess, you have a problem with someone," Errol said flatly, crossing her arms. "Let's hear it."

Leliana tapped her chin with one finger, looking relaxed and pensive even as Errol grew angrier. "No, not a problem. I'm merely saying that you should be aware of how your friends affect your image. They are good fighters all, but should they really be more than that to you, to us? Take The Iron Bull, for example. A mercenary and admitted Qunari spy who beds anything that moves; indeed, the rumors around the camp already have him in a torrid affair with you. Varric is an incorrigible and compulsive liar. Solas, while his knowledge of the Fade is an asset, is an apostate with no formal training and indeed, it seems no past. Sera's, well… Sera. In fact, the only one of our new allies who could help our cause is the one you've spent the least time with, Vivienne."

"I tried," Errol protested. "She condescended to me and then insulted Solas. She wants to put us in a Circle when this is all over. I won't go."

"We wouldn't let that happen. I don't agree with the Circles either; in fact I agree with you that mages should be free to govern themselves, but for now we need powerful allies, and she has influence with the court at Halamshiral."

"So _you_ befriend her," Errol said bitterly.

Leliana looked at her, and there was something sharper in her tone, like the gloves were coming off. "And there's the matter of Commander Cullen."

"What, you have a problem with him too?" she asked incredulously.

Leliana shook her head. "No, with you." She seemed to choose her next words carefully. "Cullen is going through a lot right now, and he is my friend. Perhaps if you were from here it would be different, but you can never truly understand what he is going through, what any of us went through, struggled through for so many years. It would be better for him, in the long run, if you were to keep your distance." She paused, gauging Errol's reaction. "I say that respectfully, Herald."

Errol stood completely still, almost shaking with… it was anger, yes, but also hurt and sadness and some other huge, undefinable emotion.

She wanted to lash out and curse at Leliana, be everything they all expected her to be: loud, coarse, wrong. Instead, she drew herself up and looked the Nightingale in the eye.

"That's odd, because just last night Cullen told me that my greatest strength is that I am different. That I am capable as a symbol of the Inquisition because, and I quote, all of you have lived this life for too long, the smoke and flames are all you can see, but I see the forest that will grow once the fire has been put out. If you doubt my memory, ask him yourself."

Leliana opened her mouth, but Errol raised her voice. "As for my friends, they are the ones who protect me when I'm about to die, who take blows for me, who eat next to me, who sleep next to me, who watch my back while I shit in the woods. After all of that, you want me to abandon them once we're in civilization because of what some gossiping people might think? How dare you. I am the Herald of _Motherfucking _Andraste, and I will associate with who I choose. If you have a problem with that, Holy Maker _I don__'__t care._"

She turned on her heel and walked away, simultaneously queasy, proud of herself, and terrified that Leliana would assassinate her before the day was out.

It wasn't until Errol returned to her cabin that she realized she'd said _Maker_ instead of _God, _and felt how deeply this place had seeped into her skin. She wondered, if they found a way for her to return home, how she would live a normal life after this was over, or if she even wanted to anymore.


	10. ActionsReactions

_**AN: I'm toying with the idea of stopping completely and simply directing readers of this story over to my AO3 account once we reach a certain point (not for a while yet), to streamline things so it won't be so wonky trying to edit out the adult bits. **__**I'm getting much more of a response on that website as well so it makes sense to eventually funnel everyone over there. **__**Thoughts? Would this be hugely troublesome to people? **_

_**And onward!**_

* * *

**Chapter 9: Actions/Reactions**

It was three days later, and Errol was pacing.

Dorian had appeared that morning, timing his arrival so perfectly she wondered if he hadn't been lurking somewhere eavesdropping on their conversation. The moment she said she wanted to go to the mages instead of the templars: Bam, there he was, like a fancy knight in fantastically shining armor, mustache a'twirl.

She turned and began to pace back, her feet long having since worn down the snow. She was just outside of the Chantry, near the back off of the war room where no one would see their Herald pacing like a maniac. She felt sick to her stomach.

They were leaving the next morning for Redcliffe to meet with Alexius, the crazed Magister who wanted her dead. She, Solas, Cassandra, and Dorian were just going to waltz into Redcliffe and divert Alexius long enough to kill all of his Venatori and take his mages. How the hell was this plan going to work? What was she going to _do?_

For the 3,457th time in the past six months, Errol looked to the heavens and groaned: "Why me?"

"Errol?"

She spun around to see Cullen eyeing her tracks. "I see you've been over this path a few times," he said. "Anything you want to talk about?"

She heaved a huge sigh. "I think you know. Tomorrow's the big day."

He approached her quickly. "There's still time to change your mind," he said in a low, urgent voice. "Nothing's been set in stone yet. You can still choose to go to the templars, it's safer…"

He trailed off. She was shaking her head. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Maker's breath, Errol, why are you so set on this course? It's reckless and it's putting you in more danger than anyone!"

"You heard what Dorian said," she said. "Time magic? Tevinter cults? And the mages are now slaves to these madmen? I can't just walk away from that."

"Yes you can," Cullen said, looking very much like he wanted to grab her and shake sense into her. "The mages sold themselves to the Magisters. They started the rebellion and they made the alliance. They are paying the price. Let them deal with the consequences. The templars are good people, I promise you that. They can help us."

She stepped back. "But the mages are _my _people, Cullen. As close to people as I have here."

He looked inexplicably hurt. "You have nothing in common with those mages save your ability to use magic. The Inquisition - we're your people."

Errol hated that she was making him look so sad. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to say to make this better. Only, I have to do this. If the templars are good people, then we'll still be able to deal with them after this is over. But I can't just ignore the mages. They need me."

"We need you," Cullen said. "If you die, the Inquisition dies with you, as does any hope of closing the Breach."

"I won't die," she said firmly. "We have a plan. I'll come back."

He looked at her, jaw set, like he was about to say something else, then changed his mind. He exhaled, some of the fight going out of him, and broke her gaze, looking past her at the tree line. "I spoke with Leliana."

He didn't have to say what about. "When?"

"A few days ago. She wasn't very happy, but… I think she was also a little impressed."

"She hasn't murdered me in my sleep yet, so…"

He half-smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. "You remembered. Very well, actually."

"I'm just as surprised as you are. I really needed to hear what you said that night." He nodded and turned as if to walk away. She couldn't help herself. "Cullen." He stopped, but didn't turn around. "The Inquisition… they're my people too."

He turned, briefly, something searching in his eyes. He nodded again. "Best get rest. You ride out at first light."

* * *

She's in Haven, which is a first. It's empty, the snow falling thickly, and the Breach is huge and luminous above them. For once, it doesn't start with a memory, but she knows she's in the Fade, because of how still the air feels, and because she is an elf.

"It seems we've just returned and again we're leaving."

She turns to him and smiles. They're standing in the courtyard but it's clean, no tents, just snow-covered cobblestones and thickly-coated trees.

"No rest for the wicked, as they say in my world."

"Ah, but that is the question," Solas says, drawing nearer to her. He wears the same robes he always does in the Fade, and they drag slightly behind his bare feet as he walks, covering his footprints. There is something very regal in the way he carries himself, no matter where he is. "Is it really your world anymore?"

She stares at him, wide eyed, and then turns away. "I'm not…" Her voice cracks. She isn't ready to answer that question. It's been haunting her for days now. Maybe weeks.

"And what do you think of our new ally?" he asks, smoothly changing the subject. She seizes it gratefully.

"Dorian? I like him. He knows who he is and he isn't afraid."

"I wouldn't trust him so easily. He's from Tevinter. They're known for abusing blood magic and are conquerors at heart."

"He abandoned his home and his friends to come and warn us of this."

"He could be leading us directly into a trap."

"Well, only one way to find out."

She's still not facing him, but she can sense that he is watching her very carefully now. "You trust people too easily."

She shrugs, and wonders again why they are at Haven instead of in the forest; it's so empty and eerie, the snow falling but not touching her skin, and above her the sky in rent in two by the Breach. "I follow my instincts."

He's just behind her; she can feel his body heat. "And what do your _instincts_ tell you about me?"

"You're… a mystery," she says honestly. "There's a weight to you that I can only feel when I'm here, something that you're masking." She expects him to draw away, to deny, but he doesn't, so she keeps talking. "I think there's far more to you than meets the eye. I haven't figured out yet if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but despite it you're still—"

Errol gasps as he snakes one arm around her stomach, then uses that arm to gently turn her, so that she's clasped tightly to him. He tilts her chin up with one finger. "Still?" he asks, and the expression on his face isn't one she expected to see: he looks amused, and proud, and possessive.

She licks her lips unconsciously. "You're still Solas," she says, and then his hand is in her hair and he is kissing her.

The whole situation is so strange that she's not sure how to react. She never expected him to show that kind of interest in her, and a large part of her brain is shouting that he's not the one she wants kissing her right now, but his lips are soft and he's very good at it. Still, she twitches, intending to push him away, but he moves his hand from her hair and brushes his thumb in a very firm, precise stroke across the elongated edge of her ear.

_Oh, God, Maker._

She realizes now why he had that look on his face the first night she appeared as an elf in the Fade and touched her ears. It had felt pleasant then, like a gentle tickle, but the way he is using his finger and thumb to rub and gently pinch her left ear ridge makes it very clear that this is a highly erogenous zone. Her knees go weak, heat coiling between her thighs, and as he pulls her tighter she moans into his mouth. He uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue moving against hers.

It isn't until he pulls back, looking satisfied, that she realizes instead of pushing him away her hands have fisted themselves in his robe, tugging him closer, and that whatever he did to her ear has made her embarrassingly turned on.

She flushes bright red. "What was that?"

"That," he says softly, "was something I perhaps should not have done, but I cannot bring myself to regret. It was a…" He pauses, brushing her swollen bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and she hates that she leans in a little bit. "Goodbye, of sorts."

Her eyes widen. "You're going somewhere?"

He laughs then, low and throaty. "No, how could I? But as we travel to Redcliffe and approach these unstable rifts and time magic Dorian warned us about, it would be wise to stay out of the Fade. We will soon be surrounded by rebel mages and Venatori and who knows what else. I believe we will be sleeping lightly and taking no chances for the next month, and during the day, as always, we are but Herald and apostate elf, companions who travel together but speak little."

"A barrier you inflict on yourself."

"It's as it must be. For now."

"Hmmf," she says, frowning at him. "I think there are things you and I really need to talk about."

"I agree," he says, but only pulls her in for another kiss, this one chaste and quick. "After Redcliffe, after the Breach is closed, I promise we will have all the time in the world to speak. There is much to discuss."

If she's going to say something, she should say it now. "Solas, I'm not sure—"

A loud pounding comes from nowhere and echoes around Haven's empty courtyard. "I believe," Solas says, smiling slightly at her. "That someone is knocking at your door. It is daybreak, Herald, and it is time to wake up."

* * *

The snowed turned to rain as they made their way down the mountain on horseback. It was still early and they were wreathed in mist, turning all but the closest riders into shadows.

Dorian brought his horse up next to hers. They hadn't spoken much since his arrival the day before, but she was inclined to give him a chance, if only in solidarity as two people out of their element in a hostile world.

"I don't know how you Southerners stand this weather. Absolutely miserable. I'm soaked down to my small clothes."

Errol pulled her waterproof jacket around her, glad she had kept it all of these months. "Please, Dorian, it's very early and I'm very tired. I don't need to imagine your wet small clothes."

"You could imagine what's under them," he said, waggling his eyebrows, and she laughed, because being from Earth she picked up on certain obvious truths far more quickly than people from Thedas. "But come to think of it, you're not from the South, are you," he continued. "Or so they say. Are you really from another planet, or time, or… something?"

"Reality is more like it," she said wearily. "A world with no magic, no Fade, no other races besides humans, lots more technology, yes it's very different, no it's not inherently better or worse than this world, yes I miss it, but I'm glad fate led me here."

"Answer that question a lot, do you?"

She grinned fakely at him. "So what's it like in Tevinter, Dorian? All blood magic, all the time? And remind me, are you a Magister? And how do you keep your skin so soft, baby sacrifices?"

"No darling, it's virgin blood all the way, never the babies," he deadpanned. "But I get your point. Still, you can't blame me for being fascinated. We don't get many other-worlders around here."

"I know." She sighed. "Sorry for being a bitch. We can talk about it sometime, if we survive. I'll let you pick my brain. Not literally, of course."

"If we survive," he said, and let out a bark of laughter. "Chipper one, aren't you? Well yes, _if_ we survive, I'll ask you all about it and even buy you a drink. I hear you have something called a _flush toilet_."

Errol only sighed again. Dorian angled his horse closer to hers and reached out to touch her hand.

"Thank you," he said softly. "For trusting me. Without your help, Alexius might…" He trailed off. "As a 'Vint', I didn't expect such support… any support really. You have my gratitude."

He started to pull away but she took his hand and squeezed it lightly. "We'll stop him, Dorian," she said. "And then you'll buy me that drink."

He smiled a little. "Fair trade, lady Herald."

She dropped his hand and closed her eyes, letting the horse guide her. She didn't want to think about what lay ahead of them at Redcliffe so instead she dwelled on the more trivial issue of the men in her life.

If that was even an accurate way to put it. She slumped on her horse, the rain a steady drumbeat against her hood. She liked Cullen, a lot, she had from the very beginning. There was something charming about him, how he was fierce in battle but shy in person, how he cared too much and worked too hard and blushed too easily and always rubbed the back of his neck, how easy it was to coax the hint of a smile from him but how difficult it was to make him smile fully. But she had no idea if those feeling were reciprocated beyond friendship or if perhaps he only saw himself as her advisor. He was older than she was (though not as old as Solas, she was sure of that) and, as Leliana had said, had seen and done many dark things. Perhaps he saw her only as a naive, silly girl, someone who couldn't understand him, and a mage as well. A potential threat, something he'd have to destroy if she ever became an abomination. Maybe that was why he resisted getting close to her. Or maybe he simply didn't notice her infatuation. She only saw him in short bursts anyway; most of the time she was on the road, far from Haven.

As for Solas… she had spent considerably more time with him than with anyone, every night in the Fade as he continued to teach her and show her old ruins and history and sneak into her memories. He was attractive, she'd noticed that before, perhaps not in a typical way, but he was lean and tall and stronger than he looked, and there was something regal in the elegant angles and flat planes of his face, his long tapered ears, his ice-blue eyes and full lips. Yes, he was attractive, but she had never seen him outside of a mentor capacity despite (and she looked back in time, kicking herself for her stupidity) his little touches in the Fade, his banter, the way he sometimes looked at her when she did something particularly well or asked the right questions. She wondered, not for the first time, if he had anything to do with the fact that she always appeared as an elf in Fade with him, because it was only with him, not in her own memories, and not when she was alone. Something about being with him changed her, and that was frightening, more frightening than the other, underlying fear: _Will he want me in the real world? Could he want a human, or does he just want to pretend in the Fade?_

He wasn't telling her things, that was clear. There was something very old and very deep running below the surface of him, something she had sensed from their first moments in the Fade together. He was something more, and it made her nervous, that this _something more_ had taken such an interest in her. Was it because of her, or because of the Mark on her hand? She distrusted his intentions, especially after the way he had so skillfully manipulated her the night before. She knew he had felt her begin to draw back, and had purposefully touched her in such a way that she was overwhelmed with sensation. He knew just how to draw her in, and yet…

Errol cast a furtive look in his direction. He was sitting on his horse with his hood up, his back perfectly straight, as if the rain didn't bother him in the slightest. There was a certain thrill in knowing that he wanted her, and she had enjoyed the kiss. She wouldn't mind it happening again. He was a mystery she was dying to unravel. Maybe they would talk about it when all of this was done…

An image of Cullen sitting with his hand on hers on Haven's roof, and unlacing her shoes when she'd had too much to drink, stopped her in her tracks.

She let out a little groan deep in her throat. Maybe they'd die at Redcliffe and this would all be a moot point.

"Man problems?" Dorian asked, and she looked at him sharply. He grinned wickedly. "Oh, I'm _right._ I was just joking but I'm _right._ It looks like we have much to discuss."

"Dorian," she said wearily, "get us through this alive and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Oh, now I _can__'__t _die," he said, spurring his horse along. "Besides, someone has to return to Haven and deliver justice on whoever cut your hair."

She laughed a little, trotting to catch up with him, and they continued to talk. It was refreshing to laugh; it eased the sickening knot in her stomach, and there was something comforting in Dorian's bravado, especially since her other companions seemed content to sit in icy silence.

He never said a word, but she felt Solas' eyes on her back the whole time.


	11. A Hushed End

_**AN: Thank you for the lovely reviews! Every single one is so appreciated.**_

* * *

**Chapter 10: A Hushed End**

A blast, and then—

She fell to her knees in water, her hands over her ears, barely aware that someone was shaking her. "They're hungry," she muttered. "They're bigger now so they should be sated, but it's only made them hungrier, they ache with it, they want to eat us from the inside and they _sing__—"_

"Come on, Errol, don't fall to pieces on me now," Dorian said, and his voice finally cut through the red haze. Her vision cleared and the voices fell away, and she was left only with the faint impression of hunger and Dorian's worried face in front of her.

"I'm fine," she said, accepting his hand as he helped her stand. "Just disoriented. What happened? Where are we?"

"It's not where, it's when," he said. "Alexius used the amulet to send us through time."

"Aw, _fuck,__" _Errol groaned. "Why do you sound happy about that?"

"Mainly because he intended to kill us and we're still alive, and also because it's _fascinating_. This kind of magic shouldn't even be possible, but here we are!"

"Okay crazy, so when are we?" she asked, holding her head. The red stones were growing out of every surface, and they pulsed with hunger. It was nauseating. "And how do we get out of here? I don't think I can take this much longer."

"What exactly are you feeling?" he asked, and she waved her hand vaguely.

"The stones. The red lyrium. It's like it's alive. I think it is. I can feel it. I just… we have to get out of here."

"Right," he said, clapping his hands, the glee of scientific discovery gone and the true horror of their situation settling in. "I have no idea _when _we are, though I think we're still in the castle somewhere. Our best bet is to start moving."

Errol released the staff from her back, taking comfort in the familiar wood under her fingers. She had named it _Jules. _"All right, let's go."

It was a hard slog through knee high, stinking sewer water. Finally they stumbled upon Fiona, pinned to the wall in a cell, red lyrium growing out of her like a cancer. She confirmed their fears: They had been gone a full year.

"You must beware," Fiona gasped, her voice labored and clogged with stone. "Alexius serves… the Elder One. More powerful than the Maker. No one challenges him and lives."

"Yeah, well, before me no one had ever crossed over from another reality," Errol said grimly. "Weird shit happens all the time."

"Our only hope is to find the amulet that Alexius used to send us here," Dorian said, all of the humor gone from his voice. He was sweating slightly, his hair mussed, and the panic was starting to show, his pupils narrowed down to pinpricks. "If it still exists, I can use it reopen the rift at the exact spot we left. Maybe."

"Good," Fiona breathed, a look of relief on her red-tinged face.

"I said _maybe_," Dorian snapped. "It might also turn us into paste."

"You must try," Fiona wheezed. "Your spymaster, Leliana. She is here. Find her. Quickly, before the Elder One learns you're here."

Dorian nodded and turned away, but Errol hesitated. She gripped the rusted bars of the cell and heated them until they shattered, then approached what was left of Fiona's body. "Can I… do anything for you?"

"Besides survive?" Fiona said weakly. "Yes, I know what you're thinking. Please, do it. It would be a mercy. As a fellow mage, as the Herald… it would be an honor."

Errol blinked back tears. She thought about how far she had come, the girl from Seattle who fell from the sky and thought that magic was so great. She rested her hand on Fiona's cheek.

"I won't let this world happen," she whispered fiercely. "I promise you."

She reached out with her magic and focused on the nerve endings, severing them first so Fiona wouldn't feel anything. Then she burned her, from the inside out, until all that was left was a lump of red lyrium on the wall, screaming out its rage as its food was torn from it.

"She's at peace, now," Dorian said as Errol emerged from the cell, but she just pushed past him, her jaw set.

"We're finding Alexius and we're getting the fuck out of here. And then I'm going to kill him."

* * *

They found Cassandra a few dungeons over. She was blessedly whole, but wreathed in red, her pupils glowing scarlet, and her voice echoed over itself, overlaid with something alien. She believed them sent from Andraste back from the dead. They hurried to explain and unlock the door and then Errol couldn't help herself.

The moment the door swung open she flung herself on the still-sitting Cassandra and wrapped her in a hug.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered into what was left of Cassandra's rotting clothing. "I won't let this world happen, I promise, I'll go back and change everything."

Cassandra awkwardly patted her on the back. "Well, it is you," she said. "If I had any doubts, they are banished now." She pulled away and allowed Errol to help her stand. "You must stop this. After you died, we couldn't stop the Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered. The army that swept in afterwards - it was a horde of demons. Nothing stopped them. Nothing. You must go back." She gripped Errol's arm, and the desperation in her voice was nothing that Errol had ever expected to hear from Cassandra. "Errol, _you must stop this._"

"I will," she said, and Cassandra's hand dropped. She nodded.

"Even if we fail, we must try. I believe Solas is still here as well, and Leliana. We have to find them if we are to have a chance."

Errol's throat felt tight. She hadn't considered seeing Solas in this condition. What if he was like Fiona? What if she had to—

She banished that thought. "Where would they be?"

* * *

At first, Solas didn't know that they were there. His back was turned, and Errol had a moment to gather herself.

He wasn't like Fiona, thank God. He was more like Cassandra, surrounded by a living red cloud, but his back was still straight. That made her smile grimly. He was unbroken. Of course he was. How could she have doubted?

Then he turned, and the look on his face when he saw her almost brought her to tears, but she made a fist and dug her nails into it so hard it left bloodstained crescent-moons in her palm.

There was shock, and awe, and relief, and joy, and vindication, and a certain contentment. "You're alive," he breathed, never taking his reddened eyes from her face. "We saw you die, but I knew it couldn't be so."

"The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time," Dorian explained again as he opened the cell door. "We just got here, so to speak."

Solas stepped out, still looking at her, and that same compulsion rose up again. Normally she never would, but here in a broken future, among the hungry stones she ran and threw her arms around him. Unlike Cassandra he returned her embrace fully, pressing his face to her hair, if only for an instant.

"I knew," he said again, softly. "I knew you would return, somehow."

He pulled away and looked at Dorian. "Can you reverse the process? You could return to your time and obviate the events of the last year. It's not too late." He said the final words with a certainty Errol wasn't sure she felt.

"If I can get my hands on Alexius' amulet, then we might have a chance," Dorian said. "But we can't stand around giving each other hugs all day."

"My life is yours," Solas said immediately. "This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass."

"Then we need to find Leliana," Cassandra said. "Quickly. And then—"

"And then Alexius pays for his crimes," Errol said, and wondered if this was what it was to truly hate someone, a searing burn down to her bones, a desire to kill like nothing she'd ever felt before, and the knowledge that she'd take pleasure in it.

* * *

They found Leliana a husk of herself but still alive and able. She had been infected with the blight again and again, pieces of her cut off and used for study, and during the year of torture she'd also been infected by the same hatred that now ate away at Errol's insides. She led them to a storage room stashed with stolen weapons and armor, and soon they were ready to make their final stand.

They were mere steps from Alexius' throne room when Solas put a hand on Errol's arm. "Wait, just a moment."

Leliana swung on him. "Why would we wait, when we are so close?" she hissed. "The Elder One is coming. We must make our move now!"

"I need but one moment with the Herald," Solas said evenly in his strange, multi-layered voice.

"You—"

"We have waited one year, Leliana. One minute more will not be the end of us. I assure you I would not take the risk if it was not important."

He pulled Errol away before anyone could say anything else. They moved only a few steps, but then he concentrated and a soundproof barrier emerged around them.

"Listen to me, this is very important and there isn't much time," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Errol, _do you trust me._ You must answer honestly."

She looked at him, so thin and wasted after a year of waiting for her to return, wreathed in red. "I… yes. Of course."

He closed his eyes and exhaled in relief, then opened them again. "Good. I have a request to make of you. When you return to your time, you must find my past self and tell him something."

"Tell him what?"

"Just this one word," he said, then said something beautiful that she didn't understand.

She furrowed her brow. "What is that, elven? What does it mean?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you that right now. You have to trust me. The whole world might depend on it. I need to know that you will do this."

Errol was starting to remember why she didn't always trust him. "Why can't you just tell me what it means?"

He sighed, looking hunted, like a man who had been through hell and back. "I have my reasons. I knew you would return. I have spent the past year in this blighted world, slowly going mad from the red lyrium, thinking, thinking how I could possibly stop all of this from happening, thinking how I could make sure that no matter what, the world would emerge from this as I dreamed it would, better, brighter. This is the way. Please, Errol, you must promise me you will deliver this message. Promise me."

She looked into his pained, hopeful face, and slowly nodded. "Okay, I promise."

He gripped her hand briefly, covertly, then dropped it. "Then it doesn't matter if I die here. Now, say it back to me, slowly. I want to make sure you pronounce it correctly." She said the word, and he shook his head. "It's an _el_ at the end, not an _er_. Say it again." She tried again, and he nodded, satisfied. "You _will_ remember it? Promise me again."

She had never heard him sound so desperate about anything. "I promise."

He smiled at her, a shadow of his usual proud smile. "Thank you, Errol Kerr. You will be great. I wish I could see it. Now we must see you safely returned, or this will all be for naught."

* * *

"Errol!"

He caught her just as she was leaving the war room, via the Chantry's back entrance, after another lengthy argument over the new mage alliance. _How did he know I__'__d come out this way?_

She turned with a fake expression of mild surprise on her face. "Oh, Solas, hi!"

He gave her a look that said he saw right through her. "You've been avoiding me ever since Redcliffe. It's been a week since we returned to Haven and you still haven't come to me here or in the Fade. I would like to know why."

"I… haven't been avoiding you."

"Then, walk with me?" he said, holding his arm out in a _you first_ gesture.

They walked the path that circled Haven. It reminded her of the time that she walked that way with Leliana, and hoped that this walk would be less confrontational.

"Does this have to do with the future or—"

"The future!" she said, then silently cursed herself that he was able to get it out of her so quickly. She was _not _ready to talk about the kiss right now.

He smiled a little. "A straight answer. Good, we're getting somewhere." She was silent. He continued, in a gentle voice. "I know that what you saw was horrific—"

"You have no idea," she said flatly.

"So tell me."

"The world was destroyed. Red lyrium was everywhere." She stopped and turned, meeting his eyes for the first time in a long time. "Solas, I could feel it," she said. "Its hunger, its cravings. That's not normal, right? People hear its song, but this was different. This was something else. It's alive, and it eats people."

He looked troubled, but only said: "And?"

She turned away again. He turned her face back, his fingers light but insistent. "And?"

"I saw your body thrown on the floor like a rag doll," she said, and hated that tears were rising to her eyes. She blinked them back fiercely. "Your neck was snapped. You were already so thin but you weren't broken, they couldn't break you, but they… they _killed you, right in front of me_, your body was at my feet—"

She stopped abruptly and pulled away, clenching her hands into fists. Gently he took her right hand and turned it palm up, revealing the crescent moon scars.

"If you keep using this method to keep from crying, you could end up with an infection," he said softly. Then: "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I had questions. I had to… sort some things out."

"Such as?"

She didn't answer, but a moment later she felt his hand on her shoulder. _How does he always know? _"Errol, was there anything else?"

"No," she said, but a second later: "Yes. Maybe."

"Which is it?"

"He asked me if I trusted you."

She finally faced him again and he looked genuinely taken aback. "And what did you say?" he asked, a touch warily.

She surveyed his face, tracking the emotions there. "I said that I do."

He looked imperceptibly relieved, something she would have missed if she hadn't been watching him so closely. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Should I?"

His eyes narrowed a little, and now he was the one watching her, scanning her face for any lies or inconsistencies. "What else did he say to you?"

Errol held his gaze. Part of her didn't want to tell him. She knew he was older than he seemed, knew more than he let on, was _more_ than he appeared. She knew she shouldn't trust him, like there was a small voice in the back of her head waving red flags.

But she did. Somehow, inexplicably, she did. She thought of him wasted and red-eyed in the future. She thought of him kissing her in the Fade. She thought of him holding her after she first killed someone. She thought of him dead at her feet.

"He told me to tell you a word. An old elven word that I can't understand and that no one seems to be able to translate."

A look of understanding crossed his face. "You've been avoiding me because you were trying to translate the word first." He smiled, just a little. "You cannot bear to lie to me to such a degree, even a lie by omission, that you must completely avoid me?" He didn't say _that__'__s adorable _\- he wouldn't say something like that - but she felt it unsaid in his body language.

"There was also the whole 'I'm still processing you dying in front of me' thing," she reminded him, and his smile faded.

"Of course. The trauma of seeing your allies die is — it helps me understand what you did to Alexius."

"Do you judge me for it?" she asked sharply.

"His son was in the room. He was on his knees," Solas said, and her stomach clenched, but he continued. "But no. Perhaps I mourn the innocence you lost, but I do not judge. In fact, I would have done the same, had I seen your body before me."

"I hope so," she said, and turned as if to walk away. He caught her wrist.

"The word, Errol."

She held it on the tip of her tongue. It felt important. Huge. Bigger than her. Bigger than all of them.

"Errol, do you trust me? What is the word?"

She looked back at him, his hand still on her wrist, and whispered it. The moment the word left her lips she wanted to grab at it, pull it back, but it was too late. He looked shocked, then satisfied.

"It is as I theorized. Good."

"What does it mean?" she asked, one last time, even though she knew what he would say.

"I can't tell you yet."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She made to walk away but realized he was still holding her wrist. She looked at him, eyebrow raised.

"We'll resume lessons in the Fade tonight," he said. It wasn't a question. "It would be beneficial to work on controlling your emotions."

After everything that had happened, Errol couldn't help but agree with him. She felt like she was losing more and more of herself every day. "All right, Jedi master," she said wearily. "See you tonight."

He released her wrist, and she started to walk away, but paused and looked back.

"I'd kill him again," she said, some part of her pleased that she could bring a look of shock to his face. "If it meant saving you. All of you. Maybe I don't belong in my world anymore. I wouldn't kill for that one. I will for this one. A thousand times over. What does that make me? Murderer or Herald? Where do I belong?"

He merely stared at her. She shrugged and kept walking. "I don't know either."


	12. The Breach

**Chapter 11: The Breach**

It was time. Errol was supposed to meet Cassandra and the mages in the courtyard in half an hour, but she still had one thing that needed to be done before the reckoning came.

She hesitated at the door inside the Chantry, then steeled herself and knocked. After a muffled "Come in!" she entered.

He was perusing their meager book stores, his back to her. She took a deep breath.

"Dorian, I'm—"

"Sorry you burned alive my friend's father right in front of him, then neglected to talk to me about it for the entire journey back, or in fact at all up until this very moment?" he said, turning to her and gesticulating wildly with a book. "Oh no, it's fine, really don't worry about it."

She lifted her chin. "I'm not going to apologize."

"You… shouldn't." He sighed and set the book down. "He was a madman who broke the world. I just wish you hadn't chosen that exact moment to set Andraste's holy fire on him. Felix was traumatized. So was I, for that matter. But he did deserve to die, as much as it pains me to say it."

"I just… wanted to see if you're okay. And if Felix is okay."

Dorian let out a bitter laugh. "He's traveling to the Magisterium now to sing your praises, if you can believe it. He's taking the whole 'burninating his father' thing rather in stride. He's a good lad. Pity that he's dying, but he's doing it on his terms. Better death than what he would have become." He sighed and shook his head, as if casting aside negative thoughts. He looked at her, his eyes clear. "And thank you."

"For what?"

He started to approach her, a smile slowly making its way onto his face. "Apologizing."

"I didn't—" she started, holding her hands up, but he batted them away and pulled her close.

"Shhh, little kitten, why, what's happening! I'm coming in for a hug, and it's rare, so just shut up and enjoy it." He held her for a moment, her face squished against his firm chest. He smelled pleasantly of cinnamon cologne. Finally he pulled away and held her shoulders, his face serious. "Now don't die at the Breach. I still need to buy you that drink, and you still need to tell me your stories. Then you buy me a drink, and we'll consider the past the past. Deal?"

She smiled. "Deal."

"Excellent," he said, clapping her on the back. "Let's go, I think I can hear the masses starting to get anxious."

* * *

—_there was a moment, when she was closing the Breach, magic thrumming fast and sharp out of her palm and snagging the edges of the ragged tear in the sky, needle and thread through a gaping wound, stitching it tight, the pull so strong that it lifted her off of her feet and she floated like an angel toward the void and it was only the force of a hundred mages that kept her from spiraling into it, there was a moment when she saw past the green and the clear and she could almost hear them, those voices, that beeping, and almost smell it, and almost see the red velvet darkness of lids that wouldn't open, but she didn't know what it meant, what did it mean, and then the fierce power of the mages ran through her and the Mark lit up emerald and the Breach burst and sealed, a rough scar across the sky and she fell back to the ground and it was gone, gone, gone—_

* * *

Errol sat on a ledge above the lower courtyard and watched them dance. Everyone was half drunk already; Varric had made her promise to save a dance for him, as had Iron Bull. Sera had disappeared somewhere in a fit of giggles, muttering something about Josephine and knickers and lizards. Vivienne was sedately and regally sipping wine at a small table by herself. Dorian was chatting up a handsome elven mage. Solas was nowhere to be seen, but a light was burning in his cabin window. Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana were sitting together and sharing a bottle of wine, their faces calm and relieved.

Errol wanted to join them; she would in a minute. She was still dwelling on what had happened at the Breach. The pull had been so strong, like a cord tied behind her ribs, lifting her, urging her to go back through. When she closed it, that cord had been severed, and she felt like she had lost something. It wasn't a huge change; she still firmly felt that there was a way to go back, if she truly wanted to, but the main bridge was gone. She would have to find a footpath. And that vision…

"The party's in your honor and yet I find you sitting here alone."

She looked up and smiled. "I'm not alone anymore."

Cullen smiled back, a true smile, and settled down next to her. Like her he was still in his armor, but some of the tension had faded from his shoulders. "Solas confirmed it: The Breach is sealed. I can't believe it."

"Me neither," she said. "I was afraid it wouldn't work."

"I was afraid you would die," he said bluntly, and she looked at him, surprised. "All of that magic running through you. I thought it would tear you apart."

"Well, I'm still here," she said, and he leaned in, just a little, their shoulders brushing.

"That you are."

They sat for a moment in contented silence. Then he said: "If they didn't believe you were the Herald before, they do now. Word of your heroism has spread, and there are still many rifts left to be sealed. I'm afraid your, and the Inquisition's, work isn't done yet."

"Good," she said, and when he looked surprised she shrugged. "I mean, not good, but while I'm still here it'll be good to have a purpose."

"Yes," he said softly. "While you're still here. So you do intend to leave, once this is all concluded? Can you even still return, now that the Breach is sealed?"

"I… don't know," she said honestly. "Solas said that there might be other ways to cross over, but I don't know where I belong anymore. I'm starting to think the Inquisition is my home now, but it can't last forever. Once that's gone, what will I have? My family is there."

"You'll always have the Inquisition," he said. "If not in name, then the people in it. There will always be a place for you here, Errol. You needn't return to your homeworld. You can do far more good here. You already have."

"Oh, right," Errol said, understanding twisting her gut. She opened her left hand and watched her palm flicker green. "The Mark."

He looked upset. "No, I didn't mean—"

The warning bells began to ring, loud and brash, just as lights flared on the mountain. He leapt up as if burned, suddenly the Commander again, and began racing toward the gate. "Forces approaching! To arms!"

Errol was on her feet in seconds. She sprinted to her cabin, grabbed her staff, and strapped on her emergency pack before turning on her heel and running back to the gate.

She arrived just in time to hear Cullen say that the massive force approaching was under no banner. Then, the knocking started, and plaintive voice called out: "I can't come in unless you open!"

_I know that voice._

"Open the gates!" she demanded, and when they stared at her, she snapped: "Now!" They opened them just in time to see a wispy boy in an overlarge hat and patchwork clothing kill an enemy attacker. He then raced inside and they slammed the gates behind him.

"I'm—" he started, but she launched herself on him, hugging him so tightly a normal person wouldn't be able to breathe.

"Cole! You're Cole!"

"Yes, I'm Cole. You're happy. You're not afraid." He sounded amazed, and tentative.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," she said, smiling, because it was a shit situation and finally meeting her mysterious spirit friend was the one silver lining.

"Herald, you know this boy?" Cassandra asked suspiciously.

"I'll explain later," she said quickly. "Cole, what are you doing here? Why now?"

"I came to warn you. The templars come to kill you."

"Templars?" Cullen said incredulously. "Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?"

"The red templars went to the Elder One," Cole said urgently, coming close to Errol. She could sense so strongly that he was a spirit it amazed her that no one else could. He was made of the Fade; he practically vibrated with it. "You took his mages." He pointed to the top of the mountain, his whole body one graceful arc. "There."

They followed his gaze. "I know that man," Cullen started. "But this Elder One—" He abruptly stopped.

Errol looked, and saw a man on the mountain, and then rising up behind him as if from hell itself—

_No, it's not possible._

The creature was over fifteen feet tall and looked like a Frankenstein's monster of flesh, bone, and red lyrium. His hands were claws, his face pulled grotesquely to the side by huge chunks of red stone, his ribs and spine exposed. Nothing could look like that and be alive. He radiated a power she felt even from that distance, a darkness that warped the Fade and twisted reality.

"He's very angry that you took his mages," Cole said solemnly.

"Oh, _fuck me,_" she breathed. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?" She swung around. "Cullen, tell me you have a plan. Anything."

Once again, it was time to fight for their lives. They almost succeeded.

And then, the dragon showed up.

* * *

As she watched the dying Chancellor Roderick, Errol suddenly had the urge to apologize for always calling him 'Ministry of Silly Hats.' Instead, she simply said, "Thank you."

He merely coughed, bloodily, and let Cole lead him away. Cole looked back, his eyes huge beneath messy bangs.

"You won't die," he said, sounding panicked. "Just don't go back. You'll want to, it will feel right, but please don't. Stay here."

"What are you—" she started, but he was gone, moving quickly even with the Chancellor's weight on his thin shoulders.

Now it was just her and Cullen. The others would return shortly - Solas, Iron Bull, and Varric were going to help her reach the final trebuchet, while the rest were leading the refugees to safety. This was the last moment, the last quiet moment with just him.

"Errol," he started, gripping her arm so tightly it hurt. "You will survive this. You must. We…" His face was open, searching, pained, wavering on the edge of saying something. Then he walled himself off before her eyes, becoming the Commander again, and the words were left unsaid. "We never did play that game of chess."

She laughed, and it sounded like a sob. "We didn't, did we? After all of this time."

"We will," he said, firmly. "By the Maker, we will." He dropped her arm and straightened as the others finally returned. "If we are to have a chance - if _you _are to have a chance - let that thing hear you."

Then he touched her cheek, briefly, his eyes memorizing her face, before turning on his heel and running after the rest of Haven.

"Hey Boss, don't look so down," Iron Bull said, clapping her on the back. "You'll make it through this. You've made it through worse."

"I mean, you went to the future and back, that's got to count for something, right? You'll be fine," Varric said, but his words sounded like flat placations.

She looked desperately at Solas. He regarded her, then said: "Remember what Cole said. It would not do to die now."

"Hey Chuckles, anyone ever tell you you've got a great bedside manner?" Varric snapped.

"Enough," Errol said, and they fell silent. She looked at each of them in turn. "Once we get to the trebuchet, you need to promise me you'll run. I won't have your blood on my hands because you felt like playing the hero. I will do this alone. Promise me." They said nothing. She raised her voice. "The Iron Bull, I pay you and the Chargers. You will do as I say. Do you understand me, mercenary?"

His voice was low and bitter. "Yes, Boss."

"Varric, someone has to tell this story," she said, hands on her hips. "I don't trust anyone but you to do it justice. You got that?"

"I'll write it all down, Sunshine," he said, nodding.

She turned last to Solas. "The Inquisition needs your knowledge more than anything," she said softly. "They're lost without you. You will run, won't you?"

He stared at her with pride in his eyes. "I will. The Inquisition will continue."

"Good," she said, and pushed up her sleeves. "Now let's get out there and kick some dragon ass."

* * *

The monster held her, dangling from one arm, a dragon at her back, and Errol knew, unequivocally, that she was going to die.

"You should never have crossed over, _mistake_," he snarled at her. "_Thief_. I have seen the throne of the Gods, and it was _empty._ I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. You closed my Breach. Here is your new God's reward: once I have my victory I will find another way into your reality and I will ruin it. I will make your people beg for mercy before I farm their bodies for red lyrium and I will _rule all_."

"No!" she screamed into his face. "I will _never _let that happen!"

He laughed at her then, and shook her like a doll. "You think you can defy me, because you stole the Anchor, because of what you are? You think that gives you power?" She stared at him and he laughed again. "Foolish girl, you don't even know what you are, and I will destroy you before you can ever find out."

He tossed her away like garbage, and she landed hard on the trebuchet. Her vision swam. _Just a little longer,_ she thought, and in her head it sounded like her dad's voice. _Hold on, my Owl. I know you can do it. Be brave. Get angry._

Corypheus' voice brought her back to reality. "The Anchor is permanent," he snarled. "You have spoiled it with your stumbling."

She lunged and grabbed for a fallen sword, holding it in front of her like a talisman. _Be brave. Get angry._

"So be it," Corypheus boomed. "I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation - and God - it deserves, and cast down your pathetic, magic-less reality into the darkness!"

She saw the flare go up over the mountains, and smiled grimly. It was finally time.

"You know," Errol said loudly. "Asshole, my world might not have magic, but it created a lot of good shit. Technology. Literature. Art. I'm personally a big fan of catchphrases and shitty action movies. Hell, I'm living one, and I'm probably going to die right now, and I've always wanted to say this." She kicked the lever, hard, and watched the trebuchet fire its last stones far into the mountain. The snow began to rumble. She smiled at him, bright and bitter. "Yippee-ki-yay, Motherfucker."

Then she turned and ran like hell.

The snow came thundering down, faster than even she expected it to. She felt Corypheus take two steps toward her, then back away as the snow closed in on him. A second later the dragon took off with him wrapped safely in its claws, just as the first of the snow began to cover Haven. She spied a busted underground room and dove into the gap as the snow rumbled above her. It flooded most of the room, her head slammed into the ground, and—

_Beep… beep… beep…_

"_Her heart rate is dropping again— why does this keep happening?"_

"_There's been a spike in brain activity but still no response. Errol, Errol can you hear me? No pupil dilation."_

"_I need 20 cc's—"_

"_What's happening? What's happening to my girl?"_

"_Someone get the family out of here, now!"_

"_Errol! Errol! ERROL! Let me stay, let me see my daughter! You told me she was stabilized! Errol!"_

_The smell of antiseptic. The red of light from behind closed eyelids. The heaviness of weighted limbs. The sound of her parents' voices. It's so easy to stay here and drift off to sleep, like it's all been a dream, all of these months, this beautiful, terrible year. Just a dream._

"Not a dream," _Cole__'__s voice says, and she wants to push it away. It doesn__'__t belong here. _"It feels right but it's not. If you stay now you'll die."

'_I was afraid you would die,' Cullen says in her memory._

'_Remember what Cole said,' the echo of Solas says. 'It would not do to die now.'_

'_Where do I belong?__' __her own voice whispers back at her. She still doesn__'__t know, but she can__'__t leave them. Not now. Not yet. They still need her. And she loves it, that blessed, broken world, Iron Bull calling her Boss, Sera waking her up by pouncing on her, Cassandra__'__s fierce faith, Josephine giving her little cakes, Varric spinning her tales, Blackwall telling dirty jokes in his grave, serious voice, Leliana throwing her a rare smile, Solas looking at her with pride in his eyes, Cullen touching her face before she went off to die__…_

_No!_

_She pulls herself away. It hurts, like ripping off her skin and sucking out the air from her lungs, and she finds herself going back down, down, away from that warmth and light, through the darkness and the Fade and the veil, down through whatever path she had inadvertently opened and as it closes behind her she__—_

Errol opened her eyes and gasped. Everything was cold and wet and dark. She was trapped in a pocket of air under the snow, inches away from freezing to death, but she was alive, or as close to it as she could be in this world.

She knew then, like she should have known all along. She wasn't here physically. Her body was in a hospital in her world, which meant, if this was even real and not just a figment of her comatose mind, that she wasn't a mage at all. She wasn't the Herald of Andraste. She wasn't even really human.

She was just a spirit.


	13. Revelations, Resignations

**Chapter 12: Revelations/Resignations**

Errol's fire spells got her out of the hole and kept her warm enough to survive the trip through the mountains. Just because she was a spirit didn't mean she couldn't die from exposure. It was brutal, but after the panic faded the hours of walking gave her plenty of time to think, and plan.

The Breach must have torn her soul from her body when she crossed over, and the Fade must have given it form. How? She must be a spirit like Cole. He had a physical form. She saw him sweat. She was pretty sure he could bleed. She must feel hunger and pain because she expected to. Perhaps she looked the same and her clothing felt the same because she expected it to be. And when she slept and entered the Fade, she left a physical form behind because she expected that would happen.

_Solas would know,_ she thought, trudging through the snow, but as soon as she had that thought the truth hit her like a ton of bricks.

How could she have been so stupid? _Solas did know. _He'd known from the beginning. What was one of the very first things he'd said to her?_ "There might be other roads that can access your home that one __**soul**__ could slip across…"_

"I'm going to kill that motherfucker," she muttered, then said it again, louder, her voice ringing through the mountains. "I'm going to KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKING BALD ELF!"

She stopped and shivered, conjuring more fire to warm her, but the more she conjured the more it exhausted her. How many times had he let hints slip? Saying that no demon could possess her? Insisting on no Harrowing? Of course, because a demon could never possess another spirit. The amulet around her neck was likely a fake. It was the reason she could hear Cole in her head, the reason she could feel the red lyrium's hunger, the reason she could enter the Fade so easily and change form in it, the reason she had magic to begin with - she was part of the Fade, born from it, made of it, of course she could draw power from it. She was no mage. She was nothing.

Another terrible thought overtook her. She was a spirit - could she become a demon? No, no that wasn't possible. If it was going to happen it would have happened by now. Another thing to ask Solas, the lying bastard.

_So I'm a spirit,_ she mused, lifting one leg after another through the dense snow, each step harder than the last. What did that mean for the Inquisition, for her friends?

She couldn't tell them, that much was clear. She imagined the look on Cassandra or Leliana's face as they realized that their Herald wasn't even flesh. The look on Cullen's face. No, they could never find out. They thought spirits were the same as demons, or close enough. No one would ever follow a spirit Herald, and the doubts would tear the Inquisition apart. She would have to keep the act up indefinitely, even if that meant distancing herself from the people she cared about.

_Maybe Solas had a reason for keeping it from me, _she thought, tears freezing on her cheeks. _What am I going to do? Oh God, Maker, if you're there… what am I going to do?_

Something smelled like smoke. Her legs were becoming heavy. She pushed on. _You're a spirit, damnit, you can't die from hypothermia! _Soon she came across the ashes of a small fire, still warm. She couldn't feel her arms. Her ability to conjure fire was gone. The snow was so thick it was like wading through concrete.

_I just want to be a person again_, she thought, just before she fell. The snow was soft as it rose up to greet her, and as it went dark it sounded like someone was calling her name.

* * *

When she woke, she was still cold but at least dry, a blanket draped over her shivering, mostly stripped form, and Cole was sitting next to her.

"Mother Giselle wanted to tend to you," he said when her eyes opened. "But I made her forget, made her go to the other patients. It only works for a little while. She keeps coming over here. Her need to see you safe is strong."

Errol sat up a little. Down by the fire, her clothes were drying, and Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen were arguing. They hadn't even noticed that she'd awoken.

"Yes," Cole said. "But they will. Soon." Then: "You know now. I knew you'd know eventually. I wanted to be there when you figured it out. So I could help. You need me, now more than ever."

Her eyes were leaking tears again. "How?" she rasped, her voice hoarse. He leaned in, covering both of their faces with the brim of his huge hat.

"They need you," he said. "The Inquisition is alive and you're the heart, pumping, pounding, beating back the dark. It can't live if it knows what you are. But you know that already. You figured it out. That's why the heart needs me. That's why I came. To help."

"How?" she asked again, so tired it was like she was being dragged back down to the dark, to sleep.

"I can make people forget," he said. "I'll stay near to you, make them all forget. They'll never know the truth. You will be the Herald they need, the beating heart, the light in the dark." His voice dropped. "You're torn, terrified, tangled, you hate that I'm saying this, hate that it is necessarily, you think maybe it's not true, maybe they wouldn't hate you, but they would, I know, I'm like you, we're the same, I've had to make so many forget, so many _friends_, and I wouldn't ask this of you but I heal hurt and this whole world is hurt and you're the one who can heal it now and to do that _they can__'__t know the truth._"

He stopped, gasping for breath after his rant, like he wasn't used to speaking so much or so vibrantly. "Oh," he said, trembling. "Don't cry. I usually make people forget if they start to cry."

"It's okay," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes with her fingertips. "It's fine, Cole. You're right, thank you. I… accept your offer."

"My dear, who are you talking to?"

Errol looked up to see Mother Giselle walking over to her with a gentle smile on her face. Errol forced her muscles to mirror the expression.

"No one. Mother Giselle, if you wouldn't mind, I would love to have my clothes back. I'm sure they're dry by now."

"Of course, my child. And then, let us talk."

Errol wasn't sure how long she could keep acting like everything was normal. "Of course."

* * *

It was all so much worse when they started singing and kneeling.

_No! _she wanted to scream. _Can't you see I'm wrong! Can't any of you see that I'm not even really here! _She wanted to tear her hair out. She wanted to run, far away from these wonderful people and their misplaced trust. She felt the tell-tale bile rising in the back of her throat, but she choked it down.

When it was over and they had dispersed, she ran around to the back of the tents, fell on her hands and knees in the snow, and vomited.

Then she cried. She curled herself into a little ball and cried her heart out, until there were no tears left, until she thought she would never cry again. She was shivering, her fingers and toes numb, the mountains a dark shadow before her.

A blanket dropped around her shoulders and she looked up. Solas held out a hand. "Come," he said softly. "They will be missing you soon, and we have much to discuss."

She took his hand and stood, drying her face with the blanket.

He led her to a cliff overlooking the valley, where he filled a torch with veilfire with a casual wave of his hand. Then he gently removed the blanket from her shoulders and laid it on the ground, and with another wave she was warm and dry. He gestured for her to sit, and followed suit, until they were both cross-legged, their backs to the warm lights of the camp, only the blue of the veilfire illuminating their faces.

"You had a near-death experience," Solas said, his face pensive. He handed her a small vial of dawn lotus and embrium and she swallowed it without hesitation. It eased the cramping in her stomach, and the foul taste in her mouth was replaced with spice and mint. "I assume that you saw something you did not wish to."

"You knew." She didn't want to beat around the bush. He nodded, looking out over the valley.

"I had my suspicions early on. They became certainty rather quickly. Yes, I knew, and I did not tell you."

She nodded. "Okay."

He looked surprised. "That is all?"

"What, you want me to blow up at you?" Errol made a small noise in the back of her throat. "You were right. You saw how I just reacted. I wouldn't have handled it any better. I probably wouldn't have believed you. It was a mercy, giving me peace for a little while longer."

He was quiet for a moment. "I… wasn't expecting acceptance. You surprise me. That was a very mature response."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," she said, laughing, her first real laugh.

He leaned back on his palms and regarded her thoughtfully. "That, I'm afraid, is physically impossible."

She laughed harder, then shook her head.

"Is any of this even real? Or is it all a delusion of my comatose mind?"

He sighed, like she had just been particularly dim-witted. "How arrogant. Do you really think you could conjure all of this? Do you really think you created Cassandra, Leliana, Corypheus, _me_, from nothing? You are not a God, Errol, and you do not have infinite creativity. If your mind was to spin you a story, would it really have created this place? Languages which you don't understand, religions you don't believe in, history you're still learning?"

She felt an almost immeasurable sense of relief. She leaned back, mirroring his posture. "Oh Solas, thank you so much for being a condescending ass. Really, I say that with all sincerity."

"Then you have my sincere appreciation of the compliment." He looked at her very gently, his blue eyes only a few inches away, made even bluer by the flickering veilfire. "Errol, at the end of the day, all you must do is continue to be yourself. Interact with your fellow members of the Inquisition. Use magic as you know how. Curse indiscriminately and make references we don't understand. You are still and always will be Errol Kerr, and that tenacity is why you are still alive today. Being a spirit doesn't change who you are at heart. It simply gives you more options about what you can become. This is a gift, Errol, though you cannot see it yet. You will do great things."

She tilted her head up to look at the stars. They sprayed across the sky like diamonds, and she found herself fruitlessly searching for the familiar constellations of home, for Orion and Draco and the Great Bear. "You said that to me once before. In the future."

"So I know what I'm talking about." He made a small humming noise as he thought. "I am pleased that you know. We can speak more freely now. Come to me in the Fade when you're ready. We have much to discuss."

"Yeah," she said, looking back toward the fires. "I'm sure they're missing us by now."

"They'll send a search party out soon," he said, only half joking. "But there is one more thing I must tell you before we return. The orb that Corypheus carries. It is elven."

Errol whistled low. "You said your people used to have some serious magic."

He nodded. "It is ancient. He used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave and tore open a path between realities, consequently bringing you here. We must find out how he survived… and I must prepare for their reaction when they learn of the orb's origin."

At first Errol didn't understand. Then her jaw clenched. "I won't let them come after you. It's an ancient artifact! It has nothing to do with you or elves now. Is racism so embedded in your culture that they'd be out for blood because some monster _human_ dug up something your ancestors used?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

She groaned. "Humans are the worst. I mean, I gotta like them 'cause I am one, but wow."

"Indeed," he said, but he was smiling.

She faced him, as if making a proclamation. "If a spirit can be the Herald, then elves can be equals, and so can mages. This whole system needs to be torn down."

He leaned forward and regarded her with a curiously satisfied expression. "I don't think we've ever been more in agreement than we are at this very moment."

"Scary, isn't it."

"Absolutely terrifying."

She grinned at him. "Hey, Solas?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're alive."

He seemed mildly startled, then something in his shoulders relaxed and he looked momentarily content. "I am pleased that you live, as well." He stood. "Now, we must escape from this desolate place. Luckily, I know where we can go."

She stood and carefully shook out the blanket. "You do? Where?"

Even in the darkness she could see his smirk. "Scout to the north."

* * *

Skyhold was a wonder. Desolate, with holes in the ceiling and covered in bird shit, but a wonder. Errol wanted to ask Solas how he knew about the place but she knew he would just say "the Fade" so she didn't. She was just happy that they had a place to call home again.

But now Leliana was standing in front of her with a sword and the whole of the settlement was watching her, and she was faced once again with the enormity of her lie.

"The Inquisition requires a leader," Cassandra said, pride in her voice. "The one who has already been leading it. You."

"I…" She tried to think of some way to dissemble. "I don't know what to say."

"Say that you will not make me regret this," Cassandra said, but she was smiling.

_I can't promise that, _she thought, but then Cole's voice layered gently over her thoughts.

_You must lead them. I will make them forget if I have to. They need you. _

She looked out over the crowd and found Cullen's face. He was looking up at her with fondness and pride, his face flushed and smiling.

"This is meant to be," Cassandra said. "Though you are from another world, the simple truth is that without you, there would be no Inquisition."

_You're the beating heart, _Cole's voice said. _You're their Owl. It's okay. I'm here. Make them believe._

She reached out, and took the sword. She turned to the crowd.

"I wasn't born here," she said, in loud, clear voice. "I didn't grow up learning of Andraste as you did. But Thedas, and the Inquisition, is my home now. I have fought for you, broken bread with you, cried with you, and I promise you that I will not rest until Corypheus is defeated and Thedas once again knows peace. I promise my every heartbeat will be dedicated to the Inquisition and to you until we see victory!"

The crowd went wild. Cullen raised his arms.

"Inquisition, will you follow?" The cheering was near deafening. "Will you fight?" Another roar. "Will we triumph?" They screamed and stamped their feet.

He drew his sword, every bit the shining lion. "Your leader, your Herald, your Inquisitor!" he shouted, and as they both raised their swords high they met eyes and for one brief, shining moment, Errol felt like she could fly.


	14. Trouble in Skyhold

**_AN: For the sake of time, I'm choosing to skip over that whole Crestwood business and have Hawke and Warden!Alistair just come to Skyhold together. Also, Cole's quest is usually post-Adamant but I'm moving it up for plot reasons._ **

**_Thank you for reading, and as always reviews are always deeply appreciated!_**

* * *

**Chapter 13: Trouble in Skyhold**

Errol sat cross-legged on her new bed at Skyhold, still in her underwear, idly eating the warm bread that the serving girl had brought up just minutes before. Her room was one of the first to be ready, and it was actually very nice - the bed was soft and didn't even smell like mold, and there was a fireplace and an amazing view.

She had been there for a over a week now, and people were already pouring in to the fortress. How word spread so fast in a world without cell phones she'd never understand. Between investigating the nooks and crannies of the massive building and deciding the setup, assigning offices, arranging for the new war table, helping refugees, advocating for Cole, and breaking up fights between Varric and Cassandra over the appearance of Hawke and Alistair, Errol barely had time to sleep, let alone visit the Fade or deal mentally with being a spirit and the Inquisitor.

She sighed, turning over the object in her hand. The sudden reemergence of the Champion of Kirkwall and her Grey Warden friend had been another wrench thrown into the works. Apparently all of the Wardens were hearing a false Calling, likely engineered by Corypheus, and now Hawke and Alistair were gone again, off to investigate a gathering of Wardens in the Western Approach. Errol was set to follow them in a few days time. Another day, another sure to be near-death experience. And that wasn't even mentioning the ball at Halamshiral she'd have to face when, if, she returned - a night of attempted murder and intrigue at the heart of the Great Game, which Leliana and Josephine were attempting to teach her. Apparently the seamstresses were already hard at work on a fancy dress and painful shoes.

Errol shook her head. This was all part of her life now. Being a spirit, leading the Inquisition, saving the world - this was what she signed up for, and she couldn't go crying about it anymore or wallowing in her own depression. She had made a promise to the people the day she accepted the title of Inquisitor, and she would live up to it. She needed to find her way out of the darkness, step by step.

Mostly, that meant accepting that she was a spirit, and finally having a real discussion with Solas in the Fade. Everything he knew she had to know. How to protect herself, what her powers were or could be, what she should be worried about, everything. She also had to reach out again to her fellow companions - cutting them off was only hurting herself, and she had Cole by her side to make sure that nothing would slip by and hurt the cause. She needed friends now. She needed laughter and hope and the occasional drunken night out.

First things first, though. She had to wrench herself out of this depression. She needed a jolt of happiness. She was the leader of the Inquisition damnit! She had magic and good friends and weird yet sexy men in her life! She would drag herself out of this funk by her own hair if she had to.

Errol put the iPod down on the mattress and frowned at it. It wasn't real, she knew that now. Well, it was _real_ in the same way she was; it was a replica, made of the Fade, created by her own memory and expectations of what she would find in her pockets. _She _made it. That meant she could make it work.

She held her hand over it and concentrated, reaching out with her magic and running it gently through the technology she didn't understand but wasn't really real anyway, it was _her_ creation, it was _her _memory of the music. She shuffled through the songs in her head, went deep into her thoughts to pull out every song she could remember, the feel of clicking through them, the sensation of music, the light of it when it turned on…

It lit up. Errol squealed with joy, marveling at the small Apple symbol on the screen. Clicking through, she realized that they were all there, even the songs she didn't remember. Tentatively she hit play, and the weak speakers began to croon The Avett Brothers.

No, not right. She needed to _move._ She needed mindless, pure, unfiltered joy. And more sound. Definitely more sound.

Giggling madly, Errol raced down the stairs, locked the door, ran back up and cast a soundproof barrier around the room, and then, circled inside of the barrier, several amplifying points. She scrolled through, hit play, and jumped on the bed, still in her underwear, only the mountains before her.

It was time to _dance._

* * *

Cullen paused at her door and took a deep breath. He'd had little chance to speak with her since they reached Skyhold; she'd been different, somehow, after the battle. Withdrawn, quiet, paler, and her smiles didn't reach her eyes. He knew the signs of a warrior post-battle; he'd lived them himself. He knew the depression one could drown in. That's why he was here, after all. To make sure she was really okay, both with her internal battle scars and with the new mantle of Inquisitor hanging over her shoulders. No one seemed to know her anymore. The only people she spoke to freely were Cole and Solas, and he didn't like how the sight of her laughing at something the elf said made his stomach clench.

It couldn't be jealousy, he told himself. She wasn't his. There wasn't anything to be jealous about.

Still, he'd felt a connection with her. Or maybe he was seeing things that didn't exist. He wasn't one of her traveling companions, after all; he had always been trapped at Haven while she went traipsing about the countryside, usually with Solas.

There was that stomach clench again. Maybe there was more to his desire to punch the elf in the face than his insufferable arrogance. What did they _talk _about all the time?

"You just going to stand there looking at her door or are you going to knock on it?" Iron Bull drawled.

Cullen whipped around to see the giant Qunari leaning against the wall with an amused expression on his face. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know that you have some _serious _thoughts regarding our new Chief," he said, smirking. "I see your armor's been freshly polished. Looks good. Fur is nice and fluffy too. And you shaved off that perpetual stubble, though that was a bad move: the ladies tend to like the stubble."

Cullen scowled. "_What_ are you doing here?"

"Boss said she wanted to try sparring against someone who wasn't Cassandra."

"Why?"

"I think the Seeker is starting to believe the hype about her being touched by Andraste. Not great for training. Blackwall's got his whole 'my lady' thing going on, wouldn't give her the full experience. That leaves me. I figured we'd get started sooner rather than later. Girl has some issues to work out, if you haven't noticed."

"I have," Cullen muttered, then turned to the door, straightened his back, and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, louder, then tried the knob. Locked.

"That's odd," he said. "The serving girl brought her breakfast not fifteen minutes ago and she's not been out since."

Iron Bull pushed past him and used his massive fist to pound very loudly on the door. It echoed through the halls, but there was no answer. The room was silent inside.

Cullen was starting to get worried.

"I can break it down," Iron Bull said decisively.

"Who's breaking what down now?" Sera's interested voice asked, and a moment later she and Dorian walked into view. He was scowling down at her, his arms crossed.

"Don't think you're going to get out of it that easily. I will _not_ have my silken small clothes replaced with… with… cotton _blends_, you monster!"

"I can open that for you, if you want," Sera said, ignoring him completely. "Why you want to go breaking into Inky's room, anyway?"

"She's in there and awake but not answering," Cullen said worriedly.

"And the room is silent as death," Iron Bull finished.

Dorian reached out with light fingers and touched the door. "Soundproof barrier," he said immediately. "Put into place from the inside. She's not answering because she can't hear you."

"Who put it there?" Cullen asked, reaching instinctively for his sword. Dorian shook his head.

"I can't tell. It's possible she did, but I don't know why she would." His eyes lit up. "Perhaps she's engaged in a tryst?"

The tightness in Cullen's stomach squeezed to an almost sickening degree.

"At this time in the morning?" Sera asked, yawning. "Too early."

"No one's come in her room since the serving girl left," Cullen said, as if reassuring himself. "Sera, can you open the door?"

"I said I could, didn't I?" she asked, rolling her eyes and pulling a pin from her belt. She knelt and, after a few seconds of jiggering, the door opened.

They all stepped into the silent room and walked up the stairs, one by one passing through the soundproof barrier so that suddenly—

Cullen's ears were assaulted by something he had no way of categorizing. "By the _Maker, _what _is _that racket?" he asked, but it was so loud no one could hear him. Then he reached the top of the stairs, and he didn't care about the sound anymore.

Errol was… jumping on the bed. Singing, and… moving suggestively. Practically writhing, back arched, ample chest heaving and skin glistening with a sheen of light perspiration. In nothing but her small clothes.

_And the players gonna play play play play play  
And the haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate  
I'm just gonna shake shake shake shake shake  
Shake it off, shake it off!_

"This is amazing!" Sera exclaimed, her words drowned out by the music.

"…damn," Iron Bull said appreciatively.

Dorian almost fell over laughing.

Cullen knew his face was bright red. He knew he should stop this, move into her field of vision, wave his arms, let her know that they were there. He knew it was very, very wrong to be watching her like this. But he couldn't move. She had instructed the seamstresses to fashion her small clothes in the style of her homeworld, and they clung to her chest and bottom like a second skin as she moved to the music.

_Heartbreakers gonna break break break break break  
And the fakers gonna fake fake fake fake fake  
I'm just gonna shake shake shake shake shake  
Shake it off, shake it off!_

As if to demonstrate she dipped and swung her hips and shoulders, then jumped high on the mattress, her legs arched behind her.

_So I keep moving, can't stop won't stop grooving  
It's like I've got this music in my mind  
Saying it's gonna be all right_

Her eyes closed, she moved her hands up her body, her fingers skimming her breasts, and then lifted them to her hair as she swayed in gyrating circles. Cullen was sweating. His pants had become uncomfortably tight. This had to stop. For his sake more than hers.

His eyes fell on a small, rectangular device sitting on the desk. The music seemed to be emanating from that, though magically amplified so that it bounced around the room. He lunged for it, then randomly hit at its smooth paneling until the music suddenly cut off.

The silence was resounding.

Errol stopped dancing. She opened her eyes curiously, then gasped as she took in her onlookers.

"Oh _shit!_" she screamed, and started throwing pillows at them. "What are you doing here? Get out, get out!"

"Just enjoying the show!" Dorian called as Cullen turned and forcefully started to push them out. "You're very flexible!"

"Yeah, come for the music, stay for the T and A!" Sera yelled, cracking up.

"Out!" Cullen snapped, then turned to apologize. She had fallen in the middle of the bed, looking dazed and flushed. The sight of her, her eyes huge, hair a mess, clutching a pillow to her mostly-bare body, almost undid him. "I… I apologize, Inquisitor," he said, looking down, his fists clenched, his body trembling like it did when he first went off lyrium. "When we knocked and received no response, we thought that something might be wrong. We never imagined…"

"Cullen," she said in a breathy voice, and he made the mistake of glancing up again. She was just sitting there, legs akimbo, like she didn't know what she did to him, and the urge to cross the room and push her down and cover her mouth with his, to feel how warm and flushed her skin was, how thin and easily tearable her strange small clothes were, was almost overwhelming.

His voice was a hoarse rasp. "Please, come and speak with me when you are properly attired."

With that, he fled.

* * *

It took a long time for Errol to get herself together again. She felt inexplicably like she'd done something wrong, but she knew she hadn't - she was allowed to do as she pleased in her own room! But the way he _looked _at her, like he wanted to march over and _punish_ her… as he would say, Maker's breath…

Now the feeling of doing something wrong was fading, and all she wanted to do was to get him to look at her like that again. At first she thought his hands had been shaking because he was so upset, but what if it was something else?

"No, no," she chided herself, standing and moving to the wardrobe. "You are being stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid." She sorted angrily through outfits. "You. Are. So. Stupid. Argh!"

She finally chose a pair of men's pant's, a silken shirt, a leather vest, and comfortable boots. Here, at least, she could go without armor. She pulled the pants on with more force than was necessary, suddenly missing Jules more than ever, or even her mom. Someone she could giggle with boys about, or in this case, rage about boys. She didn't think she'd ever been this frustrated in her life. With the exception of one Fade kiss by a shifty and strangely sexy elf-man, she'd been without for over a year, and now the man she wanted to ravage her had just seen her in nothing but her panties and bra and he had just _walked out_—

"I am so going to buy Dorian that drink," she muttered, jamming her feet into the shoes and running her fingers through her short hair. Maybe it was the hair. Everyone seemed to hate the hair. _Maybe no one wanted to fuck her because of her terrible, terrible hair._

"Enough," Errol said aloud, shoving the last of the fruit and bread into her mouth. "You're not an animal. Time to get this day started. That means—" She blanched. Talking to Solas in the Fade was next on her list. That was fine. She'd be fine.

She shook her head, her short hair swinging around her face. "I hate my life."

* * *

She found him in the circular room he had taken to haunting. She wasn't sure why he had chosen this room, as it was open and offered little privacy, but maybe it was that they had given him carte blanche to paint on the walls, and that it was just downstairs from the library, where he was always darting up to in search of a fresh tome on history or magic or the Fade or something.

"Ah, the prodigal one returns," he said, not looking up from his inspection of an artifact as she walked in. Errol stopped, brow furrowed.

"How do you know that phrase? The prodigal son is a Biblical story."

He finally looked up. "Interesting. Here it is a Chantry tale. The prodigal daughter. There does seem to be some crossover between Andraste and your Jesus. I would like to study it more once this is all over, though I'm not sure how beyond simply asking you questions."

"I'm not exactly a scholar," she said, walking to peer over his shoulder at the glowing stone he was inspecting.

"You're all we have. That makes you the foremost expert."

"What's that?"

He poked at it, and its glow sputtered and went out. "I'm not sure. Perhaps nothing. Something one of our scouts dug up." He straightened. "It's been nearly ten days. I was starting to worry I'd have to come to you."

"Heaven forbid," she said dryly. He merely regarded her.

"I assume you've taken the time you need to process your… situation?"

"I'm fine."

"That's not an answer."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"That you are," he conceded. "And I assume you are here for more answers. Do you wish to continue this conversation in the Fade, where we may speak freely?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but I just woke up an hour ago. I'm not exactly sleepy."

"Ah." He turned and rummaged through one of the desk drawers, emerging with a bright red leaf. "Chew this when you're ready. It's a mild sedative. It will only last around one hour, so you won't miss the whole day."

Errol took it from him tentatively, their fingers brushing. "Okay. So where should we do this?" She glanced at the cot he had set up in the corner. She knew he had a proper bed somewhere but she wasn't sure where. "We can't just lie down on the floor, this is an open room. People might step on us."

"Shall we retire to your room then?"

She blushed furiously at the thought of him in her room, lying down next to her in her bed. "No!" He raised his eyebrows. "People might… get the wrong idea."

He gave her a brief, knowing look, then shrugged and turned away. "Then we shall sleep apart. Physical distance is no matter, as you well know."

She clutched the leaf. "Is now a good time?"

He pulled out his own red leaf and started to walk to his cot, his bare feet silent on the stone floor. "Of course, Inquisitor."

Errol wasn't sure if hidden in his tone was a subtle jab at how long it had been since she visited him. Either way, she swallowed the lump in her throat and walked quickly back to her chambers. She noticed as she climbed into bed that it had started to rain, and the sound soothed her as she chewed the bitter leaf and slowly drifted off into a drugged sleep.

* * *

She's back in his room, except now the walls are fully painted. It's what he wants the room to be when it's finished, and it's beautiful.

"Wow," she says, inspecting it. Her feet are bare but her robes are warm, her hair long and tucked behind pointed ears. "Solas, this is incredible."

"It will be. This is just a possibility, the dream of it." He doesn't sound like he's talking about the painting.

Errol turns. He's lounging on his desk, dressed in his usual flowing Fade robes. As always, he's more animated here, his eyes brighter, almost feral, his hands curled around the edges of the desk, his body taut as if about to spring, like this is the real him, finally let loose in the Fade.

He's still restraining himself, however, for her. "You have questions," he says, standing and approaching her, and it's a slow, graceful unfurl, until his hands are tucked behind his back, straight as an arrow.

She nods, and touches the talisman that still rests at the center of her chest. "What is this? I already figured out that I can't become possessed. Does it do anything? Is it keeping me from becoming a demon? Is it like Cole's talisman, once his works, to keep anyone from controlling me?"

"It does nothing. Only you can keep yourself from becoming a demon."

She glares at him. "That's some information I could have used a little earlier!"

He shakes his head. "Right now, you cannot become a demon. You're still tethered to your human body in your world. As long as it is still alive, there are limits to your spirit form and your abilities. This is a blessing and a curse. Your powers are limited, but your form is more stable, and you cannot become a demon and no one can control you. However, should your mortal body die in your world that tether will be severed, and you will become fully a spirit, more powerful yet more mutable. Then, becoming a demon will be a worry. It's why I've been training you to keep a handle on your emotions." He pauses, surveying her thoughtfully. "What I want to know is, how are you already not dead? A body without a spirit cannot survive on its own for long."

"My world has better technology," she murmurs. "They have me on something called life support. But if they think I'm brain dead, they have the option to remove that support. Cut the cord. Willingly let me die because they think I'm already dead."

"Then you must prepare yourself. It could happen at any time."

"What about returning home?"

He frowns, as if he dislikes the question. "If it is something you truly wish to do," he says with disdain, "I will research avenues once Corypheus is defeated. It must be done safely. If done via a near-death experience, as happened before, you will reenter your body only long enough to die." She looks shocked, and he nods. "Yes. Had you remained any longer in your world, you would have perished. Returning here saved you."

She rubs her temples. "So that's why Cole gave me that warning," she says softly. "I didn't… I almost stayed."

"But you didn't. You don't belong there anymore."

She doesn't know why, but she reaches out and touches his robe. It's soft, heavy like wool but not scratchy, and it feels real.

"What am I?" she asks. "Really. I'm not like Cole, but I'm not a demon. What am I?"

He catches her hand and entwines her fingers with his. "You are different than most spirits, than any spirit I've encountered," he says, his voice a comforting lilt. "Spirits come in two varieties. They are either concepts: Compassion, Love, Empathy, Wisdom, or those concepts are twisted into demons: Rage, Envy, Hate, Despair. While they are complex in their own ways they will never truly have the depth of feeling that we do because they are a concept. They are their own people, but they lack the nuance, the shades of grey, the ability to reason and comprehend as we can.

_"_The other kind of spirits are what we call ghosts, but they are really just memories, imprints of the dead. There are no true ghosts - the souls of the living cross over once they die, and to where we do not know. Only an echo can remain."

He presses their palms together, his fingers longer than hers. His voice is becoming more animated, growing louder with each word. "But you are a true living spirit, with your mind and morals intact. A person made of the Fade. That makes you incredible. You can be what you want, you can manipulate the Fade in ways that other spirits can't comprehend, better than any mortal mage could dream. You are truly unique, and the Anchor only lends to your abilities. Without your tether to your living body, you could truly be great. Immortal, nigh unkillable. Kin to the gods of old."

He has a look in his eyes, an excited, hungry fire, and Errol knows that he wants this, wants this more than she's seen him want anything. She takes a step back, breaking their physical contact. "Why is this so important to you?" she whispers. "Why does it matter? I don't want to be like a god. That's what Corypheus wants."

He seems to take umbrage at that. "Corypheus is not a god," he growls, moving toward her, and a shiver runs down her spine.

She holds up her hands placatingly, confused by his sudden intensity. "Those gods are all gone anyway, either vanished or turned into Archdemons. I'd be alone. I want to be a person. I want to be human again."

"Why?" Solas asks. "You deserve better than humanity. You deserve _more_."

Her legs hit his desk, and he's closing in on her, a wolf stalking his prey. He has that look in his eyes, like he did before he kissed her in Fade-Haven, but she needs answers.

His left hand lands on the desk, effectively ensnaring her, but she catches his right hand before he can raise it to her face. "More than human?" she asks. "Such as what? An elf?"

Her questions catch him off guard and he freezes. Her eyes widen.

"I knew it," she hisses. "All of this time I was wondering, going crazy trying to figure out why I couldn't stay human in the Fade with you, why I always became an elf. It wasn't me. Maybe it was the first time, that was a mistake. But after that it was YOU. You're the one making me look like this."

"I'm not making you look like anything," he says, exasperated. "It's not merely physical appearance. In the Fade, you _are_ an elf. You could be anything. You are no longer confined to a human form."

"So why am I never a dwarf, or a Qunari, or an animal?" she asks. "Always an elf? Is that the only way you'll want me? You have to twist my form into something acceptable?"

"Your misunderstanding is still thinking that you _have_ a form."

"You're avoiding the question," she snaps. "Are you or are you not the reason I appear as an elf in the Fade?"

Solas doesn't answer. She tries to push past him but he holds her fast.

"We're not finished," he says.

"Oh, we are so finished," Errol says, her voice shaking. "You want me? Come get me in the real world. Until then you're just a manipulative liar who can't stand that I'm a human. And the worst part is? I knew it all along."

He tries one last time to reach her, but she knows the tricks of the Fade by now, and with one deep breath she pulls herself up and out and she's awake again, blinking and furious in her room, rain spitting against the windows.


	15. The Storm

_**AN: I'm starting to reach the boundaries of what this website will allow, but we're still in the M rating, so I'm good, for now. AKA, some smut ahead.  
**_

* * *

**Chapter 14: The Storm**

Errol stomped out of her room and made a beeline for the main doors, ignoring everyone who greeted her. The _nerve _of that man! How could she have been so blind? It was all him, his twisted fantasy, all of these months - the robes, the longer hair, the fucking _ears__—_

"Argh!" she exclaimed out loud, startling a pair of nobles who were gossiping about the sad state of the entryway.

Electricity was running under her skin. She needed to get it out.

She needed to fight someone. Now.

It was still raining as she splashed across the muddy courtyard. Iron Bull's huge figure was easily identifiable as he swung at a dummy, especially as the rest of the recruits were avoiding the miserable weather. Dorian sat nearby under an awning, sipping wine and watching Iron Bull with mild interest and more than mild appreciation.

"Hey, Bull!" she shouted as she got closer. "You wanted to spar? Let's do it now."

He turned, his Ben-Hassrath training quickly taking in her aggressive stance, the look in her eyes, the fact that she was standing in the pouring rain screaming at him. "Boss, I'm not so sure…"

"We're doing it now. You got a problem with that?"

He shook his head. "No, no. Sparring is good."

"Great. Here's the rules." Errol moved to the center of the courtyard where there was a wide open space. "No weapons, but you get to use your full strength and I get to use magic." He opened his mouth as if to protest. "You _don__'__t _ go easy on me," she snapped. "I won't go easy on you. Got it?"

"Whatever you say, Boss," he said. "Just don't blame me if you break something important."

"Do you two really think—" Dorian started, but she swung on him.

"Dorian, I'm going to need you to put up a barrier so no stray magic gets out. Can you do that for me?"

"And get all wet?" he asked, mock upset, then sighed. "All right, but I'm breaking this thing up if it looks like you're going to get yourself killed."

"Sometimes you just need a good fight," Iron Bull said, tossing his weapon aside. He crouched and waited as Dorian cast the barrier. "You sure about this, Boss?"

She crouched as well, and let her hands ice over. "I won't go easy on you."

"You do what you gotta do. Get it out. That's what I'm here for."

The barrier was complete. Errol lunged.

He slammed her into the muddy ground easily but she blasted him in the face with ice, temporarily blinding him and flipping him over. He was up in an instant and she had to scramble away; he narrowly missed her flames and caught her in the legs, bringing her down hard. She kicked and was up again and on the attack, screaming curses as she fired lightning with her hands.

"Fuck you… motherfucking… son of a…. bitch… go… fuck… yourself… you… argh!"

Iron Bull brought her down again and pinned her arms so that she couldn't use her hands. "You're done," he said, but she growled and closed her eyes and electrocuted her whole body.

It blasted him off so that he hit the barrier, hard, and they were at it again.

By this time they'd attracted onlookers, who were watching their Inquisitor fight the giant Qunari with awe. Cullen stood away from the crowd, a small frown on his face. What had made her so upset?

Cassandra put a hand on his arm and he jumped. "When this is over I will speak with her," she said. "Clearly something has happened."

"Clearly," he said. "Let me know what you discover. I worry what this kind of display says about our Inquisitor."

"I believe the people enjoy it," Cassandra said, and he looked around, surprised to see that she was right.

Back inside the barrier, Iron Bull had her pinned again. "You're _done_," he growled. "Your energy is almost spent. Any more and you'll hurt yourself. Concede this fight, Errol."

He so rarely used her name. She nodded. "I concede. Thank you, Bull."

He stayed on top of her a moment longer, his huge hands pinning her wrists, even after the barrier vanished, and his look of worry became a suggestive smirk. "Hey Boss, are you as turned on as me right now?"

She scowled at him. "Off, Bull."

He reluctantly got up, lifting her and putting her back on her feet as he did. "Just remember, if you ever need to work out some more energy…"

Errol laughed. She really did feel much better. "I know, I know, Qunari sex god. Now go." She pushed him lightly in the direction of the tavern.

Her good mood vanished when someone took hold of her elbow. She turned to see Solas standing there with a thunderous expression on his face. "A word, Inquisitor?"

His grip looked light as he steered her back inside but it was actually like steel. He maneuvered her to his circular room. It was silent except for the ravens; the tower's usual inhabitants were all finding their pleasures somewhere else in the rain, either with friends or in their rooms or the tavern.

"Solas, I'm covered in mud and blood and it's not even all my own, can we please—" she started, but he swung on her with a look in his eyes that he normally reserved for the Fade.

"Tell me, Inquisitor, what exactly were you hoping to achieve with that little display?"

_Oh shit._ She lifted her chin. "I wasn't trying to _achieve_ anything. I was upset and needed an outlet."

"And you thought that the best way for you to express your frustration was to publicly use your magic in an aggressive and violent way in front of the whole of the Inquisition, even knowing what you are?" he asked, his voice rising.

She narrowed her eyes. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Think, Errol! Your magic is different from a mage's! What if it went out of control? We don't know what you can do, what your capabilities are! What if you exposed yourself in the heat of the moment? You must be more careful!"

"How was I supposed to know that?" she snapped, her voice also getting louder. "You need to _tell _me these things!"

"Perhaps if you didn't run off the instant things turned disagreeable to you—"

"Oh, so it's my fault I'm upset that you've been _using_ me to get your rocks off in the Fade?"

"You always revert to your childish otherworld expressions when you can't deal with facing reality here—"

"You hate that I'm human!" she shouted. "You want me to be some kind of perfect spirit elf that you can accept being with! Well, I'm not going to let you change me like that!"

He threw his hands in the air. "This argument is irrelevant! You keep acting as if you are a human! You're a spirit! You're mutable, you can exist as many things! You cannot deny your nature!"

"And _you _can't deny that you want my nature to be an elf!"

"You stubbornly cling to what you used to be as a safety blanket when you could be so much more!"

"Why is this so important to you?"

The distinct sound a sword being pulled from its sheath disrupted their argument. They spun around to find Cassandra standing in the doorway with her sword drawn, her arms shaking, face white as a sheet.

"You— you're—" she started, but couldn't get the words out.

"Cass—" Errol said, taking a step toward her, but Cassandra turned her sword on her with a snarl.

"Keep away from me!"

Errol stared at her friend in horror. "Cass…"

Then Cole was there. He waved his hand in front of Cassandra's face. "Forget," he whispered, and the terror faded from her eyes, leaving only blankness. He gently helped her resheath her sword. "Fear, falling, false, everything I have done is wrong, believed is wrong, a lie, a demon." He shook his head and waved his hand again. "You came looking for her but couldn't find her. Go back to the tavern for a drink and don't think about this anymore."

Dazed, Cassandra turned and walked out. Errol just stood there, swaying like a leaf in the wind.

"Errol," Solas said softly, but Cole took her in his arms and turned on Solas with a snarl.

"You're not _helping! _You're_ hurting!"_

Solas' eyes widened at the proclamation. "I… apologize," he said. "I'll take my leave."

When he was gone Errol threw her arms around her fellow spirit. He held her tightly, because he could sense that's what would help the hurt.

"You were right," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't want to be right."

"Say you won't leave."

He hugged her tighter. "I won't leave. I will always be here to make them forget." He paused and started to panic. "Wait, why did that just make you feel _worse?"_

"Humans are confusing, Cole."

"But you're not a human." A beat. "Now you feel even _worse_! What am I doing wrong?"

* * *

Cullen finally found her in the gardens.

He had been worried when Cassandra never reported back to him. He'd found the Seeker in the tavern, drinking with an oddly vague look on her face. When he asked her what happened, she told him she'd looked but hadn't found Errol, and it slipped her mind to inform him of that fact. Very unlike Cassandra. Something about it rubbed him the wrong way, but she'd just shrugged and gone back to her beer, so he'd gone searching for the Inquisitor himself.

She wasn't in her room, or Solas' room, or the library, or the battlements, or his own office (that was wishful thinking), or the tavern. No one had seen her. Solas was missing too, but the way they'd been glaring at each other, he doubted they were together.

He hadn't expected to find her sitting in the gardens. It was still pouring rain and she was shivering, water dripping down her face, staring vacantly ahead. It looked like she had been crying but it was hard to tell with all the water. From the look of it she had been there a long time - the rain had washed all of the mud and blood from her earlier fight away, leaving only a few bruises and scratches.

"Errol?" he asked tentatively. She didn't answer. He sat down next to her and brushed wet hair away from her face. "Maker's breath, you're freezing," he said. He cupped her cheek with his palm and turned her face toward him. "Errol, are you all right?"

She blinked, and it was like he was watching her come back to life. "Oh, Cullen," she said, her voice flat. "What are you doing out here? It's raining."

"I could ask the same of you. Do you want to go back inside?"

"No!" she said immediately, then more quietly. "No, I… I can't go back in there just yet."

"Well, you can't stay out here. You'll catch your death." He hated even saying those words, but it was true: she was noticeably shivering and her lips were tinged blue. He had to get her out of the rain. He held out his hand. "Here, come with me."

Errol eyed him suspiciously, and it hurt him a little. He wondered what he did to warrant such suspicion. "Where?"

"My office," he said. "I have supplies there, a change of clothes… and we can finally play that game of chess."

A smile blossomed across her lips, and she took his hand. "I'd like that."

"Excellent." He tucked her arm under his, trying not to show how worried he was. "Shall we?"

* * *

Cullen paced his office, leaving wet boot marks across the floor. This was… not the situation he had anticipated when he went looking for her. She was upstairs, drying off in his bedroom, changing into his spare clothes, while he was down in his office waiting for her to finish.

He'd pictured her in his bedroom many times before, but never exactly like this.

_She's ill,_ he told himself. _She's ill and upset and you are better than to think of her like that at this moment._

Still, she was up there right now, possibly sitting on his bed, peeling the wet clothes from her body…

He sat down on his desk with a groan. He hadn't been this frustrated since he was a teenager.

"Are you all right?"

He looked up to see her climbing down the ladder. She was wearing one of his tan shirts and a pair of dark sleeping pants knotted at the waist and rolled up many times to show her bare feet. The shirt was knotted as well, showing a sliver of flat stomach, and the sleeves of it were rolled to her elbows.

"I know, I look like an idiot," Errol said when she reached the ground. She pulled a towel from her shoulder and began rubbing her still-damp hair. "I never mastered those handy drying spells - I always light my clothing on fire. I couldn't even find a belt that would fit, so I had to raid your jammie drawer to find pants soft enough to knot so they'd stay up. You are a tall guy, you know that?"

Cullen barely heard her. He was waging an internal battle with himself. _She__'__s ill. Stop it. (She doesn__'__t look ill anymore. Her cheeks are flushed again. She__'__s wearing your sleeping pants.) Yes. That__'__s good. She__'__s wearing pants. (She could be wearing no pants. It would be very easy to undo that sloppy knot and they__'__d fall right off. I wonder if she__'__s wearing anything underneath? Probably not. Her small clothes are probably soaking wet.) No. She__'__s still upset. She__'__s putting on a brave face. (You could make her feel better. Much better. She__'__s also obviously not wearing anything under your shirt, and she__'__s still cold.) Maker, you__'__re right__… __No! No. You__'__re a gentleman. _He tried to focus on what she was saying. Maybe that would help.

"You know you have a massive hole in your roof, right? Water all over the floor. Luckily not over the bed. I plugged it with a barrier but that will degrade over time."

_(Bed. She said bed. Errol in his bed. Errol in his bed naked. Errol in his bed naked, under him, writhing__—__) No! Stop it!_

He stood abruptly and turned away, using the excuse of rummaging for something in his desk. "I…" He struggled to remember what she had just said. "Thank you. For the barrier."

"Of course. Are you… all right?"

"Yes." He paused and adjusted his pants. _Get it together. _"Yes. I'm just looking for— ah, here it is." He turned and placed the chess board on his desk. "Shall we play?" _I need to sit down._

"Of course," she said. "But you're still soaked. Why don't I send for food while you change?"

"Oh, of… of course." He wanted to smack himself in the face. _Idiot._

"You're sure that's okay?" she asked. "My sending for food. People might talk. I mean, _I_ don't care, but I know how you are about appearances."

"Send for the food," he said wearily. "Let them gossip if they care to. I'll… be right back."

Cullen climbed the ladder and then stood for a moment in his empty room, listening to her move below. Her wet clothing hung from a drying rack in the corner - including her small clothes. He flushed and looked away. _Damn_. It was just his luck that the first woman he'd be this attracted to in a long, long time would be from another reality, the Inquisitor, the _Herald of Andraste._

He changed without thinking, removing his armor and wincing as he eased off his trousers. He was going to have to be very careful to keep her from noticing his situation. Damnit. Why was this happening now? He'd been attracted to her for months, but for some reason it had worsened in the last days, like the relief of seeing her alive after the attack on Haven and the unbelievability of finding Skyhold had freed his mind to consider the once-impossible thought of being with her. And it had, in every possible way and position.

Cullen stopped and took a deep breath, drawing on years of templar training and meditation. He cleared his thoughts, imagining a candle burning steadily in his mind, the blue at the center of it. Slowly he relaxed, one muscle at a time. _You can talk to her about this later,_ he reminded himself. _She__'__s vulnerable now and she needs a friend. You can be that for her._

Finally he opened his eyes. Yes, he could do this.

He climbed back down the ladder in bare feet, and turned to see that she had set up the chess board on the floor, and that the food had come. She was sitting cross legged on the ground, eating a strawberry and drinking wine.

"Can you believe it?" she asked with a grin. "Strawberries in this weather!" She popped a red fruit between her lips and licked the juice from her fingers.

Cullen followed her tongue with his eyes as the tip of each finger disappeared inside of her mouth. _Oh, fuck me._

* * *

He wasn't playing very well. Errol frowned at him. "You know, I don't appreciate being allowed to win."

"Hmm?" Cullen said, glancing up for only an instant before looking back at the board, his brow furrowed. "Right, of course. I apologize, I'm not… I'm just distracted."

Rain lashed at the windows and lightning flashed. What had been a miserable day had turned into a full-fledged storm. Errol wished he would open up and be normal because otherwise he was looking very sexy in his loose pants and shirt and bare feet, his hair still damp and ruffled. "I'm glad we sent for food," she said, trying again to make conversation. "If this doesn't let up we'll be trapped here all night."

"What?" he asked, looking up at her and sounding suddenly panicked. She crossed her arms.

"Cullen, what's the matter? You've been monosyllabic all evening _and _I'm winning, and I haven't played since I was twelve. What's going on? Are you upset? Is this because I was jeopardizing my health or something?"

"What?" he asked again, finally looking her in the eye. "No, not at all. I'm just lost in thought tonight. Why would you think I'm upset with you?"

She shrugged and pointed to her hand. "People are always trying to make sure the warm body that carries the Anchor is healthy. I know it was dumb to sit in the rain. I had an… argument. I had to get out of the building. I know it sounds crazy but I didn't even realize it was raining that hard until you showed up."

"I'm glad I did," he murmured. "Errol, you are more to me… to all of us than the Anchor. You must know that."

She blushed and looked down. "Maybe," she said, not convinced.

He shifted like he was about to say something else, then just sighed and moved his Queen. "You're leaving for the Western Approach soon."

"Yes, in three days."

He seemed shocked. "I didn't realize it was _that_ soon. I thought you were leaving in a week."

"We have an unexpected stop to make along the way. Cole's talisman, it doesn't work. Solas—" she was so angry she had a hard time getting his name out— "he thinks there's a way we can overcome this."

"You and Solas are… close."

"We're really, really not," she said harshly, moving her Rook, which he immediately took with his Knight. "Hey, how did you… oh, I see. Damn."

"I told you I wouldn't let you win," Cullen said. He seemed happier somehow. "Once you return it won't be long before the ball at Halamshiral. Fancy dresses and all that."

"Yay," Errol said flatly, her fingers hovering over a pawn. He made a 'tsk'ing noise.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

She glared at him. "Why not?"

"Look at the board."

She stared at it. "Yeah?"

Gently he took her hand and mimed moving the pawn. "If you move here, then I move here, then you'll go here, and I'll do this… see?"

His hand was much larger than hers, and warm, and he was bending his face very close to explain. His breath was pleasantly tinged with the scent of strawberries and wine. "Y… yeah," she stuttered. "I get it."

He leaned back, satisfied. "It's still your move."

She moved the pawn.

He looked outraged. "What are you…?"

"I like to defy expectations." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"You best put that tongue back in your mouth," he said in a husky voice, and Errol had to fight to repress a full-body shiver. Cullen was staring at her for the first time all evening, his eyes dark, and the intensity would be unnerving if she didn't want it so badly. She wavered, then decided to jump off the cliff.

"What if I don't?" she asked, and leaned forward, knowing that it would give him a direct view down her top.

He groaned, just a little in the back of his throat, then pulled her in by the front of her shirt and kissed her.

It was hot and needy, all teeth and tongue. Errol grabbed the back of his neck and let him fall on top of her, knocking the chess pieces aside. He cushioned her head with his hand and pressed the hard length of his body against hers, weight heavy and comforting, kissing her breathless, like he had been starving for her. His tongue delved into the inside of her mouth, sweeping and tasting, angling her head back for better access. She moaned, one hand fisted in his messy curls, the other scrabbling desperately at the front of his shirt as if to tear it bodily off of him. When he finally moved from her lips he rained hot kisses down the side of her neck, nipping and sucking at the skin before soothing it with his tongue.

"_Maker,_" Cullen breathed, trailing his free hand along her stomach before unknotting her shirt and slipping under it, where he cradled her breast and ran his thumb over her nipple, the feeling like an electric shock. "You taste so good." He moved his mouth slowly down her body while she twined her fingers in his hair, urging him on with little whimpers. He paused to lavish attention first on her pulse point, then the hollow of her throat, his teeth lightly scraping her collarbone, until he finally pushed up her top and replaced his hand with his mouth, swirling his tongue along her nipple before sucking hard, drawing it fully into his mouth.

"Cullen," Errol whined, so wet for him that she ached. She arched her body and hooked her leg around his, grinding on him, his erection pressed against her core with only thin fabric separating them. She took his hand and moved it to the waistband of her too-loose pants, urging him pull them down. He started to, far too slowly, the knot slipping apart with a tug, his hand warm and calloused against her soft skin. "Please, _please_."

Suddenly there was a pounding at his door. "Commander," a voice shouted. "Permission to enter."

"Permission denied!" he yelled, his face still buried in her breasts. "Go away! That's an order!"

"Sir, it's about the Inquisitor. She was last seen in your quarters. She needs to be informed that the schedule's changed. She's leaving tomorrow."

Cullen stopped what he was doing. "Tomorrow? Who approved this change?"

"Leliana, sir. She says the Warden issue is too important to risk the side mission taking longer than expected. We need the Inquisitor debriefed immediately and ready to leave at daybreak."

He groaned and rolled off of Errol. "I'll relay the message," he said. "Consider it done. Just leave. Now."

"Yes, sir."

They just laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Then Errol began to snicker. He looked over, scowling.

"What's so funny?"

She just laughed harder, pulling her shirt down and her pants up. "I think I'm already debriefed!"

He sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head on the floor. "Maker's breath, what timing…"

"Hey," she said, and when he opened his eyes she was hovering over him. She leaned in and kissed him, slowly, with a gentleness that hadn't been there before. He reached up and cupped her face, slowly tracing the line of her cheekbone with his thumb.

"I guess we were both a little… pent up," he said. She grinned down at him, feeling giddy.

"Cullen, I've been hoping you would jump me for _months._"

He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. "You're telling me all of this time I've been suffering, and we could have been—"

She beamed. "Yup."

"Why didn't you _say__—"_

"Why didn't _you_?"

He smiled at her self-deprecatingly. "We're hopeless."

"Mmm, we're basically the worst," Errol said, trailing her hand across his chest. He caught it before it could go any lower.

"We… you… we should wait. You have to leave at first light, and there are issues we must discuss if we are to enter into anything…" He stifled a gasp as she leaned in and took his earlobe between her teeth, gently sucking on it. "Maker, Errol, you must stop."

"Oh, I must stop, but your hand is on my ass," she murmured, and he flushed and quickly removed it. She sighed and shifted off of him. "As you wish, _Commander._"

Cullen visibly swallowed. "The interruption was likely a… good thing," he rasped. "It will give us time to… process before… jumping into anything. We should… we'll continue this after you return from the Western Approach, Inquisitor." He sat up, clearly uncomfortable. "I should, ah, see you back to your chambers."

"In this weather? No use both of us getting wet," Errol said, reknotting her shirt and pants. "I'll just sprint for it. Maybe arrange for a hot bath. Lie in it… think about you." Errol arched an eyebrow and was rewarded by a hitch in his breath and his fists clenching. She wasn't usually this forward but he made it too easy, and he was so wonderful when pushed past his limits. All of that pent-up energy unleashed… she licked her lips.

"I will think about you tonight as well," Cullen promised in a low voice, and now it was her turn to blush. She imagined him in his bed, undressed and alone, his hands wandering…

"Maybe I _should_ go," she said, her voice breathy, and he smirked.

"Your clothing is still upstairs."

She halted on her way to the door. "I'll… get it next time. I won't need it on this trip. It's all wet anyway."

He came up behind her and ran his hands down her arms, like he couldn't resist touching her. "As are you," he said quietly into her ear, and she shuddered, spun around, and kissed him, pressing her whole body against his. He lifted and pushed her against the still-closed door, cupping her bottom with his hands, his tongue warm as he drew her lower lip into his mouth. She whimpered and dug her nails into the back of his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him like he was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.

Cullen finally stepped back, his pupils dilated, and lowered her to her feet. "By your leave, Inquisitor," he gasped, opening the door behind her. Errol pulled him in for one last kiss, then turned on her heel and ran barefoot into the pouring rain, trying to ignore the slick heat between her thighs and the adrenaline that shook her whole body.

She reached her room in record time and collapsed in a wet heap by the door. She was _definitely _going to need that bath.


	16. Teethmarks

_**TW: This chapter contains some mildly dubious consent.**_

* * *

**Chapter 15: Teethmarks**

Iron Bull lounged by the fire, enjoying the smoky smell and the mountain air and his full belly. It had been a long day moving down the mountain from Skyhold, and he hated riding horses - always felt like they would break under his weight, even the big warhorses, and they made his ass hurt. He was glad to be sitting still now, and they'd killed and skinned a ram for dinner, and the sky was clear. It was a good evening.

Varric was in his tent, having stomped in there muttering something about a missing cog and recalibrating Bianca and that he wasn't to be bothered until his baby was fixed. Errol and Cole were just past the end of the tents in a field; he was sitting cross-legged with his ridiculous hat off and a confused look on his face, and she was plaiting flowers into a crown with her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, saying something that Iron Bull couldn't hear. She was close with the weird spirit kid, an instant connection that was a little unnerving, but he was okay with it. It humanized Cole and made people less likely to see him as a demon.

Solas sat just to Iron Bull's right, reading, his long fingers splayed across the back of some old tome. But Bull was quicker than people pegged him for, and he knew that Solas' eyes weren't moving and he hadn't turned a page in ten minutes; he was looking past the top of the book at Errol, who was laughing and placing the flower crown on Cole's head.

Yeah, the elf had a thing for Blondie. It had been apparent for a while now. They didn't talk much but Solas watched her a lot and she seemed to trust him more than she should, plus there was that whole "teaching her in the Fade" thing. Bull figured they saw each other a lot more than was visible to the rest of them. Maybe even had something going on in dream-land, but he doubted it. There was too much tension in the air for that to be the case, most of it on Solas' side. Solas wanted it, bad, and he wasn't getting it.

Unfortunately for him, Iron Bull didn't like him very much. The elf had said a few very nasty things about the Qun - mindless animals was the phrase he had used in one of their more recent chats. Bull had always taken care to be civil, if only for Errol's sake, but he didn't like anyone talking shit about his people or his way of life. At least when Errol asked questions she was respectful, fascinated even. But Solas was an ass about it.

Iron Bull leaned back and grinned. Yeah, he deserved this.

"She gets along with the kid all right," he said idly, and Solas jumped.

"Oh, I, yes, they do seem to be kindred spirits," he said, putting down his book. Over in the field, Cole was touching the flowers in his hair curiously and she batted his hands away, then held one up to his nose so he could breathe in its scent. Cole smiled, delighted. "It's helping him accommodate to this world."

Time to strike. "Too bad he's asexual. They'd be cute together." He sighed. "I guess it's gonna have to fall on me then after all."

Solas looked at him sharply. "Excuse me?"

Bull settled back contemplatively. "The way I figure it, she's been around all these months and still hasn't picked anyone. That can't be healthy. I ought'a help out." He chuckled. "Besides, I bet she's a wildcat in the sack."

"Haven't you grown tired of bedding everything that moves?" Solas snapped. His eyes were narrowed, his back very straight.

Iron Bull shrugged lazily. "Haven't bedded _her_ yet, despite what the rumors might say. Should be easy enough. She's so tightly wound, it'll be real simple once I actually start to try."

"She's not one of your tavern wenches," Solas said in a voice that could freeze hell.

Bull tapped his temple. "Tavern wench or Inquisitor, people are people. I'm Ben-Hassrath, remember? I can see what people want. And her? She's just dying for someone to take control. She'll be happy, I'll be happy, the Inquisition will be happy. I'll be doing all of you a great service. Really, I should get a medal. She'll certainly be burning things a lot less."

Solas stood abruptly. "You'll do no such thing," he hissed.

Iron Bull held up his hands. "Hey, I won't force myself on her. We're all consenting adults here."

"She is _not_ interested in you."

Iron Bull looked up at the enraged mage as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Not yet, maybe. I can be very persuasive. I'm good at reading people, knowing what they want to hear, how they want to be touched… a few of the right words, an innocent brush on the arm or hip, and she'll be putty in my hands. You'll see. You don't… have a problem with that, do you, Solas? I figured you'd only be interested in elves… or your own face in the mirror."

Solas bent forward, so that they were eye-to-eye. "The Iron Bull," he said, suddenly very calm. "I will say this once, as your friend. If you ever speak of our Inquisitor like that again, I will send a demon to you as you sleep, and you will find yourself unable to wake from your most terrifying nightmares." His eyes were colder than Iron Bull had ever seen them; for a moment, it was almost like he was a different person, older and darker and _more._ "I hope we understand each other."

He then turned on his heel and walked away.

Iron Bull sat there and shook his head. "Damn," he muttered, scratching his face. "He doesn't just want to fuck her. He actually—"

He wasn't sure what the word was; he had almost said _love_, but there was something else, hard and possessive, in the elf's ice-blue gaze. Iron Bull hoped he hadn't, as Errol sometimes said, just opened a whole can of worms. Whatever that meant. Shit. It was time for a drink.

* * *

Whatever Errol had expected to be holding Cole back, it wasn't this.

"You killed me!" he screamed, and for the first time she heard tears clogging his throat. He had the man by the hair, throat exposed, like he was about to cut it. "You forgot! You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire and you forgot, and I died in the dark!"

Her hands flew to her mouth. _Oh, Cole._

The man was running away now and Cole was flailing his arms at Varric and Solas. "He killed me, he killed me! That's why it doesn't work! He killed me and I have to kill him back!"

"Cole," Errol murmured, coming up behind him, and he turned and threw his arms around her.

"You understand," he said plaintively. "You understand. You'd kill him too, like you killed Alexius."

She cringed at that. "But you're better than me, Cole," she said, gently disengaging herself from him. "You're Compassion, remember? I'm just Errol."

"The Owl, the Wanderer, the Otherworlder, the Beating Heart," he said. "Alone like me, made like me. You're supposed to _understand_."

"I do," she said, blinking back tears. "I just don't want you to regret like I do. It will eat you alive inside. Look inside me and tell me that's not true."

He dropped his head. "But what do I do? He killed me."

Solas stepped forward. "Cole, this man cannot have killed you. You are a spirit. You have not even possessed a body."

Cole closed his eyes. "A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark dank, a captured apostate. They threw him in the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death. I came through to help… and I couldn't. So I became him. Cole."

Errol took his hand. It was traumatic enough being torn from her body and reforming when she came here. She couldn't imagine what he had been through, taking on the image and memories of a dead man.

"However you started, you're Cole now," she said softly. "And we're all glad you're here."

He leaned on her. "And you're Errol. My job is to make them forget."

She frowned. "Right now your job is to take care of yourself. Without killing anyone."

"I… I don't know how."

She looked at Solas and Varric. Iron Bull had wandered ahead and was casually holding the man by the back of his coat while he dangled and squealed, waiting for them to make up their minds. "Guys? A little help?"

"Cole is a spirit," Solas said immediately, giving her a significant look. "The death of the real Cole wounded him, perverted him from his purpose. To regain that part of himself, he must forgive."

"Come on," Varric said, rolling his eyes. "You don't just forgive someone killing you."

"_You_ don't," Solas said. "A spirit can."

"Is there another option?" Errol asked.

"The kid's angry, he needs to work through it," Varric said.

"A spirit does not work through emotions, it embodies them," Solas insisted. "At least the kind of spirit that Cole is."

"But he isn't a spirit, is he? He made himself human, and humans change. They get hurt, and they heal. He needs to work it out like a person."

"Wait, are you really saying that a spirit can become a human?" she asked, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. She saw Solas shoot her a glare.

"It seems logical," Varric said.

"You are the least qualified person to be opining on the inner workings of spirits, child of the stone," Solas said. "You cannot even dream."

"Low blow, Solas," Errol said, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"I assume you want to go along with this insane plan? You would alter the essence of what he is?"

Varric spoke again. "He did that to himself when he left the Fade. I'm just helping him survive it."

Solas looked at Errol's face and shook his head. "Why am I not surprised," he said, and sighed.

"Come on, Cole," she said, motioning toward Varric. He clutched her hand even tighter.

"You won't leave me?" he asked wildly, sweat shining on his brow.

She laced her fingers in his. "Of course not. Let's go."

* * *

They were long past the confrontation, the town far behind them, walking their horses through a field in the last of the warm afternoon light. Cole had finally stopped limping and was walking straight again, though he never strayed from her side, staying close to his fellow spirit like she was a security blanket. Errol, for her part, was distracting herself from the events of the day by idly reliving her last moments with Cullen and occasionally plucking flowers from the tall grass.

"How are you feeling?" she asked when he seemed ready to talk, touching his shoulder. He leaned into her like a cat, nuzzling her arm.

"It hurts, but its a good hurt. I'm more real now."

She smiled, but it was pained. "I'm happy for you, Cole."

"You're jealous. You shouldn't be. You're different than me, that's all. Even though I changed, and people remember me now, I can still make them forget things."

She put her arm around him and he sighed in contentment.

"What are you two crazy kids talking about?" Varric asked, approaching them. He eyed their position. "Sunshine, I think you've adopted a stray."

"I'll feed him and take care of him," she said solemnly. "And give him daily brushings."

Iron Bull let out a snort. He was leading four horses in one hand with ease. "Why doesn't anyone ever say that about me?"

She smiled vaguely, and Varric elbowed her in the waist. "What's got you so distracted? We just did a pretty good thing for the kid. You should be proud."

"She's not thinking about that right now," Cole mumbled. "Chess pieces rolling across the floor, his tongue in my mouth, Maker, you taste so good, he tastes good too, I want him to taste all of me."

Errol stiffened and stepped away from him, her cheeks flushed. "That's enough, Cole! We talked about looking into people's heads!"

Iron Bull laughed, loudly, and for some reason looked at Solas, whose face had drained of blood. "Nice job, Boss!"

Varric shook his head and chuckled. "Is this from that night you were in Curly's rooms? You two have certainly been eyeing each other long enough."

"What? No! Nothing happened! It was raining and — we didn't— we just kissed!" she sputtered, her face bright red.

"Yes, kisses, hot and needy, but she wanted more and it didn't happen and the frustration is boiling, blistering, an itch she can't scratch," Cole continued blithely, his face tilted toward the sky. Errol turned and smacked him upside the head, sending his hat flying.

"I SAID THAT'S ENOUGH, COLE!"

He rubbed his head and looked at her with wounded eyes. "But that's what you were thinking about!" he said plaintively. "You were thinking about it so loudly!"

Varric and Bull nearly doubled over they were laughing so hard.

Solas was silent, his face so still it was like it was made of stone. He just kept walking like they weren't even there, leading his horse placidly. Errol found that she couldn't look at him. She didn't want him to find out this way. Actually, a small part of her hadn't wanted him to find out at all, at least not until this… _thing _ she had with Cullen was formalized. She didn't know where she and Cullen stood, only that they were going to talk. She hadn't told him the truth about herself, and she hadn't decided if she was going to, and by merit of that fact alone she wasn't sure if the relationship would continue, no matter how much she wanted it.

She sighed, bending for Cole's fallen hat and putting it back on his head. Boys were confusing.

"Will I become confusing now too?" he asked her, and she laughed a little.

"Cole, I'm sure someday you'll make some girl very unhappy. I say that in the best way possible."

"I don't understand. You're not happy now."

She snuck a glance at Solas and quickly looked away. "My life is very, very complicated. Let's change the subject. Maybe actually ride these horses instead of walking them before it gets dark?"

* * *

The tents were set, the fires burning, and dinner was busy being digested. Errol sat on a log next to the fire, slowly turning Cole's now-useless amulet around in her hands.

"Considering wearing it yourself?"

She started. "I… didn't think you'd be talking to me anytime soon."

Solas sat down next to her on the log; there wasn't much room, and the whole of his thigh touched hers. "Why ever not?"

"I, uh… no reason," Errol said dumbly. She returned her focus to the amulet in her hands. "Would it work on me? If that… situation we discussed happens, then that means someone might be able to bind me, and that would be… bad."

"You mean if your human body dies in your world," he said. "It's all right, they're not within hearing distance."

"Yes," she said sharply. He was being very cold, and despite his pretending she knew he was upset. "Obviously."

"No."

"No what?"

"No, this talisman would not work on you. As I attempted to say many, many times before, you are not a spirit like Cole. You are not a concept. You are a full, nuanced mind made of the Fade. There is a difference."

"But I could still be bound."

He stared into the fire for a moment before nodding. "Hypothetically, should your human body die, yes, you could, and it would be catastrophic. You wield a power much greater than Cole's, and I'm not just speaking of the Anchor."

Errol sighed and placed the amulet gently on the ground. "More bad news."

"Not necessarily. I do know of a way to protect you. Very, very old protection magic, once granted by our gods. Thus marked, it would place them under the mantle of that god - not as a slave, not compelled to do anything, but marked as special, a protected one. It was given very rarely. The stories go that the god would be able to find them whenever desired, to aid them in their time of need."

"But your gods are all gone."

"True, so you should have no worries over pleasing some ancient being. However, magic is magic, and their knowledge still lingers in the deepest reaches of the Fade."

She looked at him skeptically. "And you just… happened to find this?"

He met her gaze evenly. "I spend a lot of time in the Fade, and I'm older than I look."

"That I guessed. How old are you, exactly?"

"Old enough to know that is a very rude question."

"So, like… really, really old."

"Do you wish to be protected or not, Errol?"

She twisted her mouth. This plan rubbed her the wrong way. There were too many unanswered questions, but the fear of being bound scared her more. "This is the only way?"

"To my knowledge, yes. Normal amulets and talismans won't work on you. You're a… special case."

"That's putting it lightly." She dug into the dirt with the toe of her boot, contemplating, then finally nodded. "Okay, fine, do it. Magical barrier me. I won't be turned into a demon just because my parents decide to take me off life support." She paused. "Just one more sentence I never expected to say."

He stood and looked up. "The moon is in the right position. We can go now. Come."

"Now? Go where?" But he was already striding into the forest beyond the edge of the camp, and there was something _off_ about his gait, the way he held his hands, that told her he was very, very upset.

Errol swallowed. Wolves howled in the distance. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.

She followed him deep into the forest. He moved fast, always just within sight, slipping through the trees, his figure a wisp of light in the darkness. When he finally stopped, she approached him hesitantly.

"Solas." When he didn't answer she reached out and tentatively touched his arm. "I know you're… upset with me."

"Upset?" he asked, and his voice made her uneasy. "Why would I be upset?"

So he was going to make her say it? "You know, that whole thing with me and C—"

He struck faster than should have been possible, grabbing her wrist and spinning her around so that she was pinned to a tree. "I would advise you not to say that name to me, Inquisitor," he said softly. His face was very close to hers. "What you did was irresponsible, but I am willing to overlook it."

She glared at him, refusing to be intimidated. "You have no right to call my actions irresponsible just because you don't like them."

His grip on her wrist tightened. "Have you told him what you are?" She blanched, and he had his answer. "No, of course not. Do you think that the Commander, an ex-templar who has just recently learned to treat mages as people, would accept a spirit as his lover? Do you think he would look at you the same, love you, knowing your true nature? Are you really that foolish? Or did you intend to lie to him for eternity, hoping he would never notice that you don't age? Your interest in Cullen is simply an extension of your obsession with being human again. It can come to nothing."

"I… I…" she stuttered, noticing that the hand that wasn't gripping her wrist was on her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Cole was able to become more human."

He laughed, harshly. "Ah yes, we haven't even touched on you using Cole as your experiment! You made him more human not because it was the best thing for him but because you want to be more human. When will you understand that you are not like him? You can't deny your nature. You will change, but it will not be to regress back to a weak human form. You will only become more and more like a spirit. It's a beautiful thing, why do you run from it?"

She tried to look intimidating, but it was hard when she was pinned to a tree. Somewhere in her mind she also realized that she wasn't struggling or pushing him off. "Stop telling me how to feel."

"Someone must, because you clearly can't make up your own mind." He moved his hand from her wrist and wound his fingers through her hair, then tilted her head back. She gasped.

"What are you doing?"

"You told me to come and get you in the real world. I'm only doing as you ordered."

"Solas, things have—"

He brought his mouth down to her ear. "Listen to your teacher for once," he growled, and then kissed her, hard.

She wasn't an elf this time, there were no sensitive ears to manipulate, but she found herself drowning in him anyway. She couldn't deny the attraction - it was always there, bubbling under the surface despite her anger. Still, she fought it even as she grew damningly wet, even as she whimpered despite herself, keeping her arms stiff at her sides when they wanted to clutch at his shoulders, trying not to give in to his lips as they expertly worked their way over hers.

He moved his mouth to the pulse point on her neck and she felt it flutter under his lips. "Now you are too good at putting up barriers," he murmured, trailing his hands down her sides. "I am doing this for you, vhenan. Give in."

"Doing this… for me?" she rasped. There was magic tingling along her skin now and sparking at her most sensitive points, making it hard to think. It brushed against her nipples, and spectral hands slipped silkily beneath her clothing. A slow pulse thrummed deep in the ache between her thighs until she was unable to keep her hands from pulling him closer, sliding one leg between his, panting, mewling, rutting against him, mind blank except for the singular need for friction. "You're doing this… to me. It's not… right."

"You and I, we're beyond wrong and right," he said into her neck. "Say yes, Errol."

"Yes," she breathed, as he sucked at the crook of her neck and shoulder. Then, he bit it, a deep, animal bite.

The magic went wild, and she orgasmed so hard that her vision went white. His teeth were sharper than they should have been, and they sank through her skin with ease, drawing blood, which he quickly laved with his tongue.

Errol shuddered as he lapped up the blood. It didn't hurt; in fact it continued to send pleasurable tingles down to her core, and she noticed that the more he licked it the more it healed, until it was smooth scar tissue more sensitive than her elf-ears had been.

When the blood was all gone he lifted his head, his eyes hazy and sated, his body still pressing hers against the tree. He ran his thumb gently along his handiwork and made a small sound of approval.

Errol's throat was very dry. "What… what did you just do?"

"Gave you the mark we discussed."

"I… you…" She swallowed, hard. "I didn't know it was a… sex thing."

"I told you that the ancient gods only gave it to a select few," he purred, still tracing the mark with his fingers and smiling as her breathing grew ragged. "It was made to protect their lovers."

"You could have… told me that," she gasped.

"Would you have agreed to it had you known?"

"… probably not." He pressed a bit harder on the mark and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pleasure. "Solas, you shouldn't—"

He relented, stepping back and moving his hand from the bite mark to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Cullen is not good for you, Errol. He will not accept you as you are."

She glared at him. "You don't get to choose who I date, and you certainly don't get to magic your way into my pants whenever you feel like it."

"I am thoroughly chastised," he said, brushing his thumb across her lower lip. She batted his hand away.

"You are not. And you wonder why I think you're an ass."

He sighed. "I cannot manipulate what isn't already there. I did not drug you. The magic heightened the pre-existing arousal, which I needed for the spell to work. You could still have said no, pushed me aside, chosen logic over emotion. You didn't. You feel guilty, but you do have feelings for me, and strong ones at that."

Errol looked away. She couldn't argue with the truth. She hated it, but the turned on, highly frustrated part of her still just wanted to grab him and let him take her right there against the tree, and the worst part was she knew he knew it. "Just… don't do it again."

He raised an eyebrow. "What if you ask me to?"

"I won't."

He turned and started to walk back to the camp, his bare feet silent against the forest floor. "Never say never."


	17. Dance Dance Revolution

_**IMPORTANT AN: This is NOT the full chapter. Due to explicit content, aka smut, this chapter has been shortened to comply with the guidelines, because I feel like I've pushed the line as far as it can go. If you'd like to read the end of the chapter, please go to my AO3 (Archive of Our Own) account. My user name is Unstoppablei. I've also included a handy link on my profile (which you have to copy-paste once you're on the hyperlink, not just click- this website is weird, right? This is like the Nightvale of websites).**_

_**Thanks!**_

* * *

**Chapter 16: Dance Dance Revolution**

Errol paced nervously outside of Cullen's door. She had already briefed her advisors as to the horrors of the Western Approach - the Warden warriors dead on the ground, the mages bound mind and body to Corypheus and the demons they summoned. It had been a bloodbath, one Errol was glad to be far away from. Now Hawke and Alistair were scouting out Adamant Fortress, and she feared that only more death and destruction lay ahead.

But first, there was this. Somehow more terrifying than any battle, because in a battle she could only die, but here she'd keep living, knowing she'd thrown her chance of happiness away.

_Selfish, selfish,_ a voice scolded inside of her, and she knew it was right. Who was she to be worrying about her love life when the whole world was at stake. She was petty and selfish, a little girl playing at being a hero.

"It's not selfish to want to be happy," Cole's soft voice said. "When it's darkest is when we most need the sun. You don't have to do this."

She nodded, not even looking at him. "He'll see you now, so stay outside and listen. If he… if it's really bad, I'll give the signal, and you'll come in and make him forget."

"Yes."

Errol nodded again, tugging up the high collar of her coat, the one that safely covered the mark on her neck, and knocked on his door. She heard a muffled "Come in" and placed her hand on the cool wood, steeling herself. Then she pushed.

Cullen was standing over his desk and staring at a small open box. When he saw her he straightened and rubbed the back of his neck, looking pained.

"I was hoping it would be you," he said, crossing the room and taking her hand. He then surprised her by bowing and gently kissing it. "You are well? What happened in the Western Approach was… disturbing, to say the least."

"I'm fine," she said, blushing a little at his gentlemanly actions. "I mean, I'm not fine, but you know… I'm fine."

He laughed a little, but it sounded pained. "I do know."

"Cullen, is there…"

Still holding her hand, he led her to one of two chairs set up in the middle of the room. "I… have something I need to tell you. Will you sit with me?"

"Of course," she said, sinking down into the chair. He sat directly across from her, so close their knees were almost touching. "Are you okay?"

He ran a hand through his hair. His stubble was back; he looked scruffier than usual, and there were shadows under his eyes. "I don't know." He cast his gaze back to the open box on his desk. "Lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer - some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the templars here, but I… no longer take it."

Errol reached over and gripped his hand. "Cullen, why? When?"

"When I joined the Inquisition. It's been months now."

"Months? It's been over a year! You could die!"

"I haven't yet," he said, softly squeezing her hand. "After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't… I will not be bound to the Order - or that life - any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it." He sighed, then sat back, drawing his hand away from hers. He didn't meet her eyes. "But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I've asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty."

"That won't be necessary," she said immediately. "You've come this far, you've been without for a year and you're still standing. That's got to mean something."

"You put far too much trust in my abilities," he said. She scowled.

"You put far too little."

He exhaled and sat up again. "Perhaps. Either way, thank you for the support. I was… worried about telling you. It's why—" He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head as if banishing dark thoughts. "I believe you had something you wished to discuss with me as well?"

Errol took a shaking breath. "Oh, yes. I… are you sure you have time? This could be a lot to process."

"I do. Are you all right?"

Now she was the one who wouldn't meet his eyes. "I'm… no. I'm not. I've been keeping something from you and I probably would have kept it from you forever except that I… care about you and I… we can't be together if I don't…" She cut off abruptly. This was even harder than she expected. "Please, Cullen, no matter what you think of me, even if you don't want to be with me, just please promise you won't be afraid of me. I couldn't take it. What I'm about to say changes nothing. I'm still me. Please remember that."

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Your building this up isn't helping any. What's going on?"

Errol took a deep breath and clenched her hands over her knees. "When I crossed over from my world, I thought I just… stepped across the Breach, like through a door. I thought I was a mage. But I'm not. Crossing over didn't give me mage powers. It… tore my soul from my body and reformed it from the Fade. My real body is still in my world, hanging on by a thread, senseless and almost dead."

He had gone pale. "I don't— what are you saying?"

"Cullen, I'm a spirit."

He stood abruptly, knocking his chair over. "No, that's not possible. You're here, you're real, I've touched you, seen you bleed, sweat, eat, sleep—"

"Yes, like Cole," she said, still sitting. "Except not. He's a spirit like you're used to, a concept, Compassion, who made himself flesh. I'm a person, a woman, but my form… it's not my real body. It's made of the Fade. That's why I can do magic. Solas says that when my body dies in my world I'll become even more spirit-like. I'm trying to find a way to stop that from happening, to ground myself in reality like Cole has."

"Solas," he said sharply. "Solas knows?"

"He's the one who figured it out."

"Who else?"

"Cole. Anyone else would think I'm a demon."

"Of course they would!" he said, pacing now. "You're not even human! Forget becoming an abomination, you could become a demon!"

"That's why Solas has been training me—"

He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers on his temples. "Maker's breath. Our Inquisitor, a spirit. We'd be ruined if anyone found out. It's always something, isn't it."

"Cullen—"

"You should have told me before."

His voice was sharp and cold. Against her will, Errol felt tears well up in her eyes. "I didn't know how you'd react."

"Not well, obviously. What if someone—" He paused and turned to her. "Cassandra," he said flatly. "She found out, didn't she? The day of the storm. And someone… Cole. Is Cole lurking here somewhere, in case I reacted too violently, waiting to make me forget?"

She just stared at him and he shook his head. "Maker. How much you must trust me."

"I trusted Cassandra and she drew her sword on me. She called me a demon."

"I'm not Cassandra," he snapped. "I thought you knew that. But then again, I thought I knew you."

She stood and tried to approach him. "Cullen," she said again. "Please, I'm still me. I'm still the same person as before." She reached out but he backed away.

"Stop. You're not flesh. You… I don't even know what you are. I won't tell anyone about you, but I can't… I can't, Errol. You're not human."

His words stung like a slap to the face. Tears flooded her eyes. "So he was right," she whispered. "The ex-templar who only just came to see mages as people. I have a mother and father, I have a body, I have no control over how I came here, I didn't choose this. And I am human, you ass! I have a heart like you and I bleed like you and I lo—" She was crying messily now, her face red. "I really thought that you—" She couldn't stand there and embarrass herself anymore. She ran to the door and slammed it behind her.

Cole was standing there, looking uncomfortable. "Do you want me to—" he started, and she shook her head.

"If he even starts to seriously consider telling anyone, wipe it all," she said. "Until then, let him keep it. This is how people see me. I needed to do this."

"He won't tell," Cole said, and she threw her arms around him.

"Please help me get back to my rooms without anyone seeing me," she said, and he nodded.

"If it will help the hurt."

* * *

The unfortunate effect of Cole being more human was that it was now harder for him to be sneaky. People remembered him, and even though they took back ways and unused paths to her chambers, word somehow still got out that the spirit boy was half-carrying the sobbing Inquisitor.

By the end of the next day, everyone knew that she hadn't left her rooms yet, and whispers were flitting through the top ranks. Errol knew, instinctively, that they were talking about her. She'd been in her room for 30 hours, with only the serving girls allowed to bring her food and draw her baths and take her paperwork. She knew they must be worried. She just didn't care. She still completed and sent out her reports like a good little Inquisitor. That's what mattered, in the long run.

She sprawled on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She knew she couldn't wallow forever - they were leaving for Adamant in a few days time, once the siege equipment was secured, to strike at the Grey Wardens before they could summon their demon army. But until then she was stuck at Skyhold, and she didn't want to talk to anyone. What was the point? They'd all think she was a monster if they knew the truth. They weren't truly her friends.

Errol sighed and rolled over, curling into a small ball, her iPod crooning out Damien Rice.

_So why do you fill my sorrow  
With the words you've borrowed  
From the only place you've known  
And why do you sing Hallelujah?  
If it means nothing to ya  
Why do you sing with me at all?_

She missed the music of her home. She missed her mom's cooking, her brother crashing on her couch, she missed giggling with Jules and movie nights, she missed sitting on the back porch and drinking whisky with her dad, she missed cheesecake and fried chicken and donuts, waking up late on a Sunday morning and browsing the internet with her pajamas on, Seattle in the springtime, being safe, being human, never having to worry about killing people or saving the world. She missed all of it.

She didn't even know the lock had been picked until the shadows fell over her bed.

"Oy, Herald Lady, you're bringing us down."

She looked up to see Sera and Dorian both standing there with crossed arms. She scowled at them. "I'm fine, and apparently my room desperately needs a new lock."

"I didn't ask if you were okay," Sera said dismissively. "And get all the locks you want, I'll still pick 'em. We've come 'cause this place is boring and we need you."

"Don't get me wrong, I am concerned for your welfare," Dorian said. "But… yes, what she said. Ever since you returned from the Western Approach it's as if we're preparing for our own funerals, and I am far too young and handsome to die, especially at a rotten old shithole like Adamant. We come to you in desperation, Inquisitor."

She sat up and wrinkled her nose. "What can _I_ do?"

Dorian nodded at her iPod. "That device. It plays music. Of a sort."

Errol nodded, wary, and Sera pumped a fist in the air.

"So I say, dance party!" the elf squealed. "We've already invited everyone. Show us all a taste of your fancy world. I want to try dancing to that weird shite you were playing a few weeks ago. Anything's better than that boring minstrel who keeps writing songs about me. Creepy, that."

Errol blinked. "You… want a dance party with my music? Tonight?"

"In two hours," Dorian said. "So I'd say you'd best bathe, eat, and choose the music wisely. We'll be ready and waiting at the tavern with drinks. I'll help with the amplifying spells. Take everyone's mind off this whole dreary Warden business."

"Hurry hurry!" Sera said, then grabbed Dorian's arm and skipped out of the room and down the stairs before Errol could protest.

Errol groaned and flopped back down on the bed. A dance party? Now? With _her_ music? Most of the people here wouldn't recognize what she listened to as music at all. How would they dance to it? Obviously the first order of business would have to be to get everyone drunk.

She rolled onto her stomach and picked up her iPod, scrolling through it with a frown on her face. This was going to be a challenge.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, washed and dressed and playlist ready, Errol made her way out of her chambers and through the empty great hall. She slowed as she passed Solas' room - the door was open, and through it she could just catch a glimpse of his amazing paintings, now over half finished.

She sighed and unconsciously reached up to touch her high-necked vest - worn over a billowing silk shirt, it was low and laced at the front with a neckline that rose up nearly to her jaw, perfectly covering the mark that looked so much like an animal bite. He was right all along. If only he wasn't so maddeningly hot and cold, so unfathomable, inhuman, so… Solas.

A hand caught her wrist from behind. "Inquisitor… Errol."

The man himself. "Solas!" she said, surprised, then shook her head. "You were right, okay? You can gloat later. I'm late."

"I have no wish to gloat. As much as it may not seem like it, I am not happy to be right about these kinds of things. Are you well?"

His voice was soft and solicitous, more like the Solas she first knew than the one she had been seeing lately. She turned and let him intertwine his fingers with hers. "I'm fine," she said. "Really. Sad, but… I was prepared for it, because of you. Really, I wasn't so much wallowing because of him, it was because of… everyone. Knowing that would be everyone's response. Finding out for certain that all of the people you would die for would think you're a monster really gets you down."

"Not all," he said, squeezing her hand. "You're not alone, Errol. You have Cole. And you have me."

She squeezed back. "Thank God for that." She smiled a little, the ghost of a smile. "Are you coming to the party tonight?"

"I don't think—"

"There will be lots of music from my world. It'll be a great chance to study my culture while also quietly judging the rest of the Inquisition."

His mouth quirked upward. "Perhaps I will stop by."

"Good," she said. "I'd like to see you there."

He merely nodded and released her hand, and she turned and made her way out the front door and down the steps toward the tavern.

* * *

It was already packed, the party in full swing. Everyone was there, except, it seemed, for Cullen. She scanned the room, searching for his distinctive build and hair, but knew in an instant that he wasn't there. Even Leliana and Josephine were sipping wine in the corner, waiting for her, curious as to the music of her world. The rest of them were half-drunk already, even Blackwall, and Sera, Dorian and Bull were more than half.

"Inky!" Sera exclaimed as she walked in. "Finally! I've been drinking for you!" She hiccuped. "Let's get this party started!"

Errol accepted a drink and downed it in one gulp, then turned around and accepted one from Iron Bull, wincing as it burned down her throat. He laughed and pounded her on the back.

"What was that?" she gasped.

"Just a little something to catch you up to the rest of us!" he boomed. "Now I was promised music!"

She placed her iPod on the fireplace mantel and put a protection spell on it; then, with the help of Dorian, cast amplifying spells around the room. Whatever Iron Bull and Sera had given her was already starting to set in, and she was grinning goofily as she found the playlist and selected it.

"Oh yeah!" Iron Bull yelled as "Hooked on a Feeling" began to play. "I like this _Ooga Chaka!"_

Errol grabbed Sera and spun her around, then ran for Blackwall and pulled him in too, and by the end of the song everyone was raising their tankards and shouting: "_IIIIIIIIIIIII__'__M HOOKED ON A FEELING! I__'__M HIGH ON BELIEVING! THAT YOU__'__RE IN LOVE WITH MEEEEEEEE!__"_

As they continued to drink, she played "September" by Earth, Wind &amp; Fire and led them in some makeshift disco dancing (Varric really got into it), while later it turned out that Cassandra enjoyed Journey the most (once she learned the words she couldn't stop belting out "_DON__'__T STOP BELIEVING! HOLD ON TO THAT FEEEEEELING!__"__)_

Errol moved between partners and danced with everyone during Olly Murs "Dance With Me Tonight," Iron Bull stomping his feet and Varric still attempting to disco, while Sera just swung herself around with abandon and Cassandra kept asking if she could play more Journey.

It wasn't until "You Make My Dreams Come True," by Hall &amp; Oates that Errol looked up and saw Solas lounging on the balcony, watching everyone with elbows resting on the bannister, a small smile on his face. She beamed at him as she danced, and motioned for him to join them. He shook his head, but continued to watch her with tender eyes, and between the alcohol and the dancing and music and heartbreak Errol found herself wanting to just rest in him for a moment, in someone who knew what she was and accepted her.

He was right. For all of his damning qualities, his lies and manipulations, she did want him, because he wanted her, and now with Cullen's rejection…

Her heart gave an almost painful thump, and suddenly his expression changed from relaxed fondness to one of confusion and then utter panic. He waved his hand, and suddenly all of the lights went out.

Everyone started bumping into each other and talking.

"What's going on?" Cassandra asked, a bit woozily.

"Hey, who turned out the lights?" Sera complained.

"God damn I could make a good Doctor Who joke right now and no one would get it," Errol muttered, right before she felt long fingers close on her wrist.

"We must leave. Now," Solas' voice said into her ear.

"Just a little lighting malfunction, it'll be up again in a minute," Errol said loudly as he began to drag her away. "Anyway, keep having fun, don't touch the barrier around the device unless you're Dorian or you'll be shocked, and I gotta run. Bye!"

They made their way in the darkness to the door. The minute they were outside Solas took off running, dragging her behind him.

"What's going on?" she gasped. "Where are we going?"

He didn't answer, just kept moving, up a flight of stairs and around the side of the building until they were in the gardens. The gardens were deserted at this time of night, but he didn't stop until he led her into the furthest, darkest corner.

"What's going on?" she asked again when he finally dropped her hand. Her back was to a large white pillar so completely shadowed she could barely see anything except his eyes, which glowed slightly.

Without saying a word, he reached out and touched one of her ears.

She gasped, then touched the other herself. "I'm an elf? Are we dreaming?"

"We're very much awake," he said huskily. "You changed form in the middle of the tavern. Luckily I managed to darken the room before anyone noticed." He gently tugged at her hair. "Your hair has grown as well. It's past your shoulders, just as it is in the Fade."

"How?" She couldn't help but notice that he didn't remove his hand from her hair; instead he coiled it through his fingers.

"I told you before: you have no set form now. It's what you expect or want to be. For some reason, perhaps due to the emotional upheaval in the last days, you had a moment when you wanted to be as you are with me in the Fade." He didn't sound upset.

She wasn't going to let that slide. "You sound almost happy about it."

"Not happy, not exactly," he said after a moment of thought. "It's dangerous to change form simply because of a passing emotion. We must work more on your control. Had I not been there… well, it would be difficult even for Cole to wipe the memory of every single person in that room."

"But…" she pressed.

"But," he said, sliding his hand from her hair to run his fingers along her sensitive ear. "It does give me pleasure knowing that you changed to this form."

"Don't think," she said stiffly, trying to stifle the tingles of pleasure radiating from her core. "Don't… think it's because of you."

He leaned in, his breath tickling her other ear. "It's absolutely because of me," he said softly. "You wanted me, and that desire manifested itself physically in this form. Denying the truth does not make it any less the truth." He slid his free hand down her side and cupped her bottom, swiftly locking her hips to his so that she knew how hard he was. She made a small noise in the back of her throat and instinctually thrust against him, and the friction felt so good it was sinful. "Now, Inquisitor," he continued almost conversationally, "can you claim you don't want me? Or if I slipped my hand into your small clothes would I find you soaking wet? Shall we call it an experiment?"

"Solas," Errol gasped, as his tongue slowly began to make its way across her ear. She was trembling like a leaf. There was a void inside of her that was begging to be filled and she didn't care by who. She gave in. "Yes, please."

"Hmmm?" he asked, unlacing her vest and letting it drop to the ground, exposing the mark on her neck. He kissed his way down to it, then slowly traced it with his teeth, as if reminding her who had given it to her. He bit it again, just a little, and the magic flared, sending shock waves through her body. She moaned and his mouth was on hers, swallowing it up.

"Shhh," he whispered when they broke apart. "You must stay quiet. Now, what do you want me to do?"

"Touch me," she whispered back. "Please."

"As my Inquisitor commands."

* * *

_Please head over to AO3 for the end of the chapter!_


	18. Sum of All Fears

**Chapter 17: Sum of All Fears**

Errol didn't sleep well that night.

She tossed and turned, going over the previous few days in her head. How had it all gone so wrong? She kept seeing Cullen's face as he stepped away from her in disgust. _You're not even human! _The ache that accompanied his loss, like she was completely unloveable, untouchable, a monster. And then Solas came and…

She groaned and buried her face in her pillow. She had never intended for that to happen. She had just been so shattered after Cullen, and the way Solas looked at her, the things he'd said to her, his voice pitched to a low growl, the way he'd made her feel desirable again, she hadn't been able to resist. It had felt amazing at the time, but in the cold dark hours of the night, alone in her bed, she knew it hadn't been the right choice.

Rejected or not, she loved Cullen.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck. _She loved Cullen, she fucking _loved _him, and he couldn't even look at her.

She finally crawled out of bed just as the sun was cresting the horizon, shadows like dark bruises under her eyes. This couldn't go on. Even if it meant being alone, she had to tell him, or risk losing herself.

She thought of the nightmares, the ones where her huge wings were touched, ever-so lightly, and they crumbled to dust, and she wondered if this was what those dreams meant. That if she let someone in, the wrong someone, she would be changing herself for them, and losing herself in the process.

Or not. The dreams were more ambiguous than that, bigger than merely who she slept with. She washed her face, the cold water chasing the thoughts away. She'd think about that later.

Errol braided her newly-long hair, then dressed in leggings and a high-necked tunic that draped down to her thighs. She pulled on soft leather boots and, after checking to make sure that she was almost as covered as Leliana, made her way to the Great Hall.

It was still quiet, but it wouldn't stay that way for long; soon, the breakfast bell would ring and the place would be filled with servants carrying long tables and sleepy-eyed people shuffling in for their first cup of tea.

She made her way quickly to Solas' room, closing the door behind her. Even the rookery above was silent, the birds still resting and occasionally fluttering their feathers as the sun just started to spill warm light over them.

"You're here earlier than expected," a very quiet voice said, as if trying not to wake anyone else up.

Solas was painting the walls, but laid down the palette and brush when he saw her. He smiled a little and attempted to snag her around the waist, but she stepped away and shook her head.

"Solas, I… we need to talk."

His smile faded and he put his hands behind his back, surveying her. "Ah. You have shadows under your eyes. Trouble sleeping?"

She looked down. "About yesterday… it can never happen again."

"Never is a very long time."

She looked at him sharply. He didn't seem upset, more curious and almost weary, like she was a child throwing a tantrum that he would simply have to wait out. "I'm sorry, but I mean it. I never meant to toy with your feelings in any way, but I…" She wanted to say _my heart belongs to someone else _but she couldn't get the words out. "I've been through a lot and I just need to be alone. I can't. You and me… it isn't right. I was vulnerable last night and I made a mistake. It won't happen again." He was still staring at her. She wrinkled her brow. "What?"

He sighed. "I should have expected this," he said, stepping closer to her. "You still think like a mortal and have a limited perspective on everything, including time." He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Don't worry, vhenan, I will not touch you in that way again without your permission, but I am patient, and you are wrong."

"I'm _wrong_?" she hissed. "You can't tell someone they're wrong about their own heart, Solas."

His voice was gentle. "Your nature recognizes me as what I am. Your true equal. Your mind will catch up."

She knew he wouldn't answer if she asked what he was, so she just shook her head. "You are such an asshole."

"An asshole?" He leaned forward, his breath hot on her neck, words murmured intimately. "You clearly didn't think so last night, when you were begging for me as you came."

She stepped away, her fists clenched. "We're done."

He inclined his head, his voice ever-so slightly mocking. "I disagree, but if the Lady Inquisitor must be on her way…"

She shot him one last glare, then turned on her heel and stomped out, slamming the door behind her, the sound reverberating through the tower and waking the birds, their squawks nearly drowned out by the sound of the morning bell and the shuffle of feet as Skyhold awoke.

* * *

Errol drowned herself in work over the next few days as they prepared to leave for Adamant Fortress. She avoided Solas' room at all cost, and during the many meetings in the War Room tried to walk the fine line between keeping her head down and acting like everything was fine. Cullen acted the Commander in front of Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra, but never met Errol's eyes across the table, and there was a tension in the air that everyone was aware of. When not in meetings, she spent most of her time either with Dorian, who she would coax to bring her books to the tavern so she wouldn't have to risk passing by Solas' room, or Varric, who made her comfortable because he never hit on her, even jokingly, due to his being in his own tortured relationship with the real Bianca.

Finally it was time to head out. Errol was looking forward to being on the road again, except this time the thrill of freedom was hampered by the fact that they were traveling with the army, including Cullen. Riding next to him but speaking only a few terse words was incredibly painful, made all the more awkward by Solas riding at her back. She had brought him simply because she needed someone besides Cole at her side who knew what she was, who could help if she changed or if everyone turned on her. She knew, despite their issues, that he would fight for her, and she was grateful that she at least had that.

Cole rode on her other side; he was awkward with the horse, still unused to riding an animal instead of slipping along ahead as a spirit. Next to him was Blackwall, who she brought with the hope that maybe he could talk the Wardens down from this insanity. Varric was there as well, Bianca strapped to his back - he was the best shot they had and perfect for picking off snipers on the walls.

Everyone else they had left at Skyhold in case they didn't return. Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine could lead the Inquisition if Cullen and Errol died; Vivienne was a respected mage and Dorian would further their cause even though he still wasn't completely trusted by the masses; Iron Bull had the Chargers to aid in battle; and Sera and her Red Jennies were helpful even if no one wanted to admit it. The Inquisition would live on, and that made Errol breathe a little easier.

"The Inquisition won't be better off if you die," Cole said blithely, and she heard Cullen's sharp intake of breath. "You're all tangled up inside, a pearl of pain, but you're still the beating heart, the sharp claws of the Owl. They can't make you forget that. They can't change you. You alive is better than you dead. You dead only brings more death."

"Cole, please don't," she said wearily. "You're just making everyone upset."

"I'm telling the truth," he said, a bit petulantly. "I don't like it when you have those thoughts. What must you think of me if you think that of you? _Demon, monster, unloved, broken, shameful, hidden, hated, haunted._"

"Hey Sunshine, what's he talkin' about?" Varric asked.

"Just nonsense," Errol said flatly. "You know how it is."

Cole looked hurt, but she just pushed her horse to go faster, missing entirely the look of pain and regret on Cullen's face.

* * *

The siege was bloody, as Cullen knew it would be.

He fought hard, with the muscle memory of someone who had been in many such battles, and watched her out of the corner of his eye. She fought through the Wardens and demons with single minded determination, until blood and gore covered her clothes and face, her staff lighting up again and again with fire and lightning and that strange Rift magic she'd been studying. Her face was set and determined, not even blinking as she tore down another foe, moving up toward the battlements.

He remembered reading the reports from her first trip out to the Hinterlands, how she reacted when she killed rebel mages for the first time. She nearly went into shock. She had been so innocent, arriving from a world where she never had to kill. And what had this world done to her? Chewed her up, stripped her of her innocence, of her bright-eyed optimism, of her literal body and sense of self, and he—

She had come to him, seeking hope, seeking salvation in a world gone mad, and he had turned her away. After all of the atrocities he himself had committed, he turned away the woman who was saving them, who was tearing herself apart to save a world that wasn't even her own, who wanted to give herself to a broken former templar who once wanted to kill innocent mages for no good reason other than his own hate. And he turned her away as if she was a monster.

He cut down another enemy as she called lightning to her staff and flung it at a demon, and felt sick. _He_ was the monster. This wasn't Kinloch Hold, this wasn't Kirkwall, this wasn't the Fade or one of his nightmares. This was strange, wonderful, incredible living _Errol_ in front of him that he cast aside because of his own brutal, crippling terror. He had barely looked at her since her admission, afraid of what it might mean to admit that he was wrong. Being with a spirit went against everything the Chantry taught, everything he believed in, everything the templars stood for. It was everything he feared. But he wasn't a templar anymore, and he wasn't afraid anymore.

Then she was gone, up the stairs, fighting her way to the battlements. He tried to follow, desperate to keep her safe, but there were too many enemies. He threw them off as quickly as he could, but his ascent was slow, and now his men were screaming, pointing to the sky, and he was throwing himself under cover as the dragon rained electrical fire down on them.

The dragon. _No!_ Could Corypheus be here? Panic tightened in his gut. The moment the great wings passed overhead he emerged and ran toward where the beast was hovering. It would be after her, that's where it would go. He _had _to protect her.

He emerged into the ceremonial area just in time to see her group disappearing around a far corner. He sprinted fast, past the rift, past the bodies of dead Wardens, past a table with an old Warden on it, his throat slit.

When he finally found them, they were across a long walkway, and there was a dragon between them.

The dragon approached Errol slowly, one clawed foot in front of the other, a hissing growl rising up in its rotting throat. She skittered back, holding her staff out, standing in front of her companions as if she could save them by sheer will alone. Cullen clutched at his sword uselessly. What could he do?

She caught his eye for a split second and smiled, a grim, fatalistic smile that said she knew she was going to die. He shook his head. No. That couldn't happen.

Then Warden Commander Clarel opened up her hand from beneath the beast and shot out a beam of lightning straight into its soft underside. It roared, tail flailing, knocking Cullen back. The walkway shattered, stone crumbling like glass, and Cullen lifted himself just in time to see Errol and the rest of them falling, flailing, and as he screamed for her she opened up her left hand and the Anchor pulsed and a rift opened and swallowed them and they were gone and Cullen was left gasping and alone.

* * *

Errol was falling, falling forever. The air stuck to her, became part of her skin, seeped into her, peeled off, dug in, fell away. It wanted to dismantle her and put her back together.

When she touched down the world flipped and she landed hard, her face to the dirt. But it wasn't dirt. It was the impression of dirt, just as she was the impression of a woman. It was the same stuff as she was, and she could feel it here.

"Nooo," she moaned, scrabbling for purchase like she was going to float away again. She didn't like being here. It made her feel like she was coming apart at the edges, like she was less real. "No, I'm real, I'm real, _I__'__m real_." It was hard to breathe.

"'Course you're real, Sunshine," Varric said, crouching by her and taking hold of her arm. "It's this place that isn't fuckin' real. Wherever we are."

"We're in the Fade," Solas said, wonder in his voice. "Errol opened a rift. We came through… and survived. I never thought I would ever find myself here physically. Look, the Black City, almost close enough to touch."

"That's great and all, Chuckles, but a little help?" Varric snapped. Cole had found his way over to Errol and was clutching at her like a child, both of them gasping for breath.

"I can't be here, we can't be here," he muttered, rocking them back and forth. "Made of too much, made of too little, halves that don't make a whole. This place is wrong. I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I know it wasn't like this. You feel it," he said, placing his cheek on top of Errol's head. "Made wrong, it seeps into you, trying to twist, to turn. We must leave."

"What's he talking about?" Blackwall said gruffly, his hand on his sword. "Besides saying that this place is creepy. I understood that."

Solas crouched in front of them. "Errol. Cole. You must be calm. We will make our way out of here as quickly as possible." He touched Errol's arm. "Errol? Look at me."

She opened her eyes and the pupils were blown wide, covering her irises with black. "It's tainted," she rasped. "Wants to get inside."

"It can't," he said firmly. "Remember what I told you about your body, and what I gave you. You're safe. This part of the Fade is simply under the thrall of a powerful demon, likely one of some type of Fear." He grasped her hand and helped her stand. "Come."

She stood, shakily, willing whatever it was to get out of her mind.

Alistair looked at her with alarm. "Yeah, let's get out of here. Your eyes are incredibly scary right now."

"Could it be because we're here physically, instead of just dreaming?" Hawke asked, standing perpendicular to them on a floating piece of rock. "Errol, was it like this when you walked out of the Fade at Haven?"

Errol shook her head. "I don't remember."

"In the real world, the rift with the demons in it was nearby, in the main hall," Alistair said, still shooting Errol nervous glances. "Can we get out the same way?"

"We have to try," Errol said, and she knew her voice sounded harsh and raw. The mark on her neck pulsed. Protected or not, she had to get out of here. "Let's go."

* * *

The spirit of the Divine, or the spirit that thought it was the Divine, led them through the Nightmare's realm, but with each taunt Errol felt herself shattering a little inside. Made as she was from the Fade, the darkness of it reflected her very essence like a cancer, sickening her from the inside. She just pressed on, and waited for it to turn to her.

"_There's nothing like a Grey Warden," _it sneered at Blackwall._ "And you are _nothing_ like a Grey Warden."_

"_Are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget. Just like you help other people. We're so very much alike, you and I."_

"_Dirth ma, Harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar Solas ena mar din."_

"_Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium, you brought Hawke here…"_

Finally it was her turn. It spoke in English, but there was something strange about the way the words sounded, familiar yet foreign, like listening to a song from childhood she hadn't heard in a long time. "_You are a naive child. A wolf and a lion ravage your corpse, and you worry over which to offer up the choicest meat. You are neither an Owl nor a Butterfly. You are simply dead and do not know it yet.__"_

"Oh believe me, I'm well aware," she said, and noticed that her voice had the same unusual ring to it. The Nightmare laughed.

"_Your spirit friend can't protect you forever. __They will turn on you. They all will, once they have picked your bones clean."_

"It would be best if you don't engage it," Solas said, touching her elbow.

"Which are you?" she asked softly, and he tilted his head.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What language was that thing speaking just now?" Varric asked nervously. "It's like nothing I've ever heard. And you answered him in it."

"What are you talking about?" Errol asked. "It was English."

They all stared at her. "What's English?" Blackwall finally asked.

"What we're all speaking," she said slowly.

Varric looked at her blankly. "We're speaking the Common Tongue. Always have been."

She looked at Solas. "So you… didn't understand what it said?"

He shook his head. "When you… came through the Breach and formed a…" She knew he wanted to say _body_, "an _impression_ of this world, your mind absorbed information - how to breathe our air, move, walk, everything. It must have picked up on the dominant language in the room as part of that process."

"So this whole time I've been speaking another language?"

He nodded. "It is fascinating."

"Great, it's fascinating, but our Inquisitor still has demon eyes and her skin is going a little… greyish, not your best look, by the way, and in case you've forgotten we're still in the Fade, can we _please _leave the language lesson for later?" Alistair asked uncomfortably.

"Right," Errol said, pushing her sleeves up. "Let's follow the Divine. I need to get my memories back."

* * *

—_the rest was fragmented, falling__—_

—_the sight of herself coming through the Breach, only now she remembered being ripped from her body and send spiraling through the darkness, reforming from the Fade, awash in green, a scream tearing from her throat__— "__What the hell are you doing to her?__"— __the orb rolling to her, the pain as it sealed itself to her palm and somehow made her more real, carved herself a whole body out of fire and magic, and oh, the relief of realizing her companions only understood the confusion and pain in the jumble of images and not the implications as they looked at her with pitying eyes and not with fear, that she was safe for one more day__—_

—_the graveyard, standing in front of Solas__' __tombstone, the words __'__Dying Alone__' __etched in crumbling marble, while Cullen__'__s said __'__Being Leashed__' __and hers said __'__Losing Myself__'—_

—_the Nightmare, huge and clattering, an Eldritch Abomination, Hawke hurtling toward it with her sword drawn, war cry on her lips__—_

—_stepping once more through the void and wiping all of the demons from the fabric of existence like they were stains, and the world was solid around her again, unchanging, but she could still hear the screams of the decaying and rotten Fade behind her and as the rift closed her pupils shrank and the grey retreated from her skin and then there was nothing for a long, long time__—_

* * *

Cullen couldn't breathe when he saw them step from the rift without her. He stared at the swirling vortex of green, as if he could force her to appear through sheer will alone.

"_Please,_" he whispered silently, senselessly. It was a prayer, a beg, a plea to a vanished God. It was nothing. _"Please."_

The portal wavered. Alistair emerged but Hawke didn't, and for a moment Cullen couldn't see Errol, half hunched and hidden behind him. She looked exhausted and dazed, and stumbled into Blackwall's shoulder with a look in her eyes like she didn't know where she was. She raised her palm and the few remaining demons vanished. A cheer went up and she smiled weakly. The chains eased from Cullen's neck, and for a moment he felt that they had actually won the day and everything was going to be all right.

Then she collapsed into Blackwall's arms, and Cullen's heart stopped again.


	19. Trust Earned

**Chapter 18: Trust Earned**

Errol was unconscious for most of the trip back to Skyhold. She was carried on a special covered stretcher through the mountains, and rested in a private tent at night, with Solas tending to her for a few hours every evening. Worst of all was Cole, who never left her side, and who actually growled at Cullen every time he checked in on her and when he did talk seemed to be incapable of saying anything except: "You hurt her! Get out!"

Cullen noticed that Solas would always be lurking near the tent after these little confrontations, ostensibly checking on something unrelated, but with the tiniest of smug smiles on his face. The urge to punch him was becoming almost unbearable. Maker help him, he hated that elf.

It wasn't until the day before they reached Skyhold that the word spread like wildfire: the Inquisitor was awake.

Cullen made his way quickly to her tent, ducking inside to see Varric and Blackwall already there. She was sitting up weakly, her hair plastered to her forehead, with Solas and a Healer bending over her, checking various points and offering her potions, which she swallowed without protest.

Cole immediately spotted him and stood. "I told you—"

She put a weak hand on his arm. "It's okay, Cole. He can stay."

"But he—"

"Cole," she said, and he turned his huge eyes on her. "Thank you for defending my honor. I'm fine."

"Indeed you are," Solas said, standing. "Rest is the only thing you need now. Would you care for a sedative, Inquisitor?" His tone was all business, but his eyes were tired and worried. She shook her head and smiled at him.

"No, thank you Solas. I've slept enough." She looked at Varric and Blackwall. "You two okay?"

"Oh us? Just peachy. Going into the Fade was like a nice stroll in the park," Varric said snarkily.

"What he's trying to say is that we're just glad you're okay," Blackwall said, elbowing him.

Varric made a grumbling noise. "Yeah, that."

Cullen couldn't wait any longer. "Inquisitor, might I have a word… alone?"

Now they were all glaring at him. Maker, did everyone know? Blackwall and Varric looked wary, Solas' eyes were narrowed to slits, Cole looked like he wanted to protest again, and Errol looked sad and nervous. Only the Healer seemed oblivious to the tension in the tent.

"Perhaps now is not the best time—" Solas started.

"Of course," Errol said, interrupting him. "I'm sure if the Commander wishes to speak with me than it must be urgent official business." Her voice was cold and tired. "Thank you so much everyone for being there for me, I can't tell you what it means. I'll see you later at Skyhold, hopefully after some food and a bath."

They reluctantly filed out, Cole last, his hat clutched in his hands, his eyes whipping back and forth between them. She made a shooing motion with her hand and his shoulders dropped and he finally vanished.

Cullen pulled a low stool to the side of the cot and sat on it. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly. "Truly?"

"Truly?" she asked. "Like I've been hit by a truck. Oh wait, you don't know what that means. By a… umm, mountain. I'll live." Her voice reverted back to a serious tone. "I know you're eager to hear my side of what happened in the Fade. I'll fill you in with the rest of the advisors back at Skyhold, Commander."

He winced. She wasn't going to make this easy for him. Nor should she. "Errol, when I saw that dragon approaching you, and then the walkway crumbled, and then you vanished into the Fade… I thought you were dead." She had her eyes closed and her face turned away from him. He continued. "I've never been so scared in my life. I've faced demons, abominations, red templars, any number of horrors, but the thought of losing you made me more afraid than I've ever been. I knew I was wrong before that, I was staying away from you because I was trying to fight my way through a lifetime of misheld beliefs, of rigid training, of fear… I was going to tell you what you mean to me and then you… you died, and I died too, in that moment."

Her shoulders were shaking; her eyes were still closed but tears streamed down her face. "Errol…" He reached out and touched her hand, but she jerked it away.

"You made me hate myself," she whispered, and his face paled. "You told me I wasn't human, you looked at me like I was a monster."

"I was wrong," he said, running his fingers through his hair. "I've been wrong about so many things in my life. You _are_ human, in your heart, and even if you're not, you're Errol, and that's enough."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I'm very tired, and I don't know if I can—" She cut off abruptly. "Can we talk about this at Skyhold?"

"Of course," he said. "I—" He held the words on his tongue; it would do no good saying them now. "We will speak again once you're stronger. I just couldn't… I couldn't go another day having you think that I don't care for you. And I'm… I'm sorry."

"Me too," she murmured. He stared at her a moment longer, willing her to say something else, then stood and left the tent.

* * *

Errol didn't like being carried as the rest of them rode, but it couldn't be helped. She still felt weak from her ordeal in the Fade. Solas had explained it to her in hushed whispers after she had first awoken.

"_You're made of the Fade, yet you weren't created there, as Cole was. You lack a certain... natural resistance in your current state. That part of the Fade was tainted, so it tainted you," _he had said as he checked her pupils and pulse.

"_What would have happened if I'd stayed?" _she'd asked, and he'd looked worried.

"_Not turned into a demon, if that's what you're thinking. Merely sickened more, fallen unconscious. Nothing good." _He'd hesitated. _"The marks protected you. Both of them."_

She'd flexed her left hand and touched the left side of her neck with her right; he'd bandaged it carefully, telling everyone she'd wounded it in the fight. "_Thank you._"

He'd merely nodded and told her to rest.

She sighed, staring at the sun above her as they jostled up the mountain. She hadn't been able to speak with Varric yet. He was putting up a good front but she could see the grief in his eyes, the question. _How had Hawke died_? She and Alistair had been the only ones to witness it, and she wasn't sure what Alistair was saying. What could she say to him? That she had allowed his friend to sacrifice herself because her life was less important that Alistair's, because Alistair was the last Grey Warden of high rank and if they were going to save the Order they needed him? It was so military, so cold. Hawke was Varric's best friend, and she'd left her there to die in the dark. Errol closed her eyes, the warmth of the sun on her face a mockery. What a world she had fallen into. What a life she now lived.

Errol pulled from her pocket the small bottle Solas had given her, uncorked it, and drained it in one gulp. Her whole body relaxed, and within a few moments, the rocking of the stretcher felt like the waves of the ocean, distant and soft.

She slept, and didn't dream.

* * *

When she woke she was back at Skyhold, clean and in her bed, and Varric was sitting next to her.

"Don't worry, you're decent," he said when she looked down with some panic. He was right; she was wearing soft grey long-sleeved pajamas that covered her various bandages and bruises. "Here." He took a tray of food off of the nightstand and put it on her lap, then put a cup of water in her hand. She drank greedily, and shoved a piece of bread and cheese in her mouth. "Woah there, slow down. I can't have the Inquisitor choking on my watch."

She chewed and swallowed. "Has someone been watching me this whole time?"

"Mostly just the Healers," he said, snagging a piece of apple from her plate. "Though Solas and Cullen are here a lot too. Whatever is going on between the three of you is weird, no matter how much you deny it. Lots of dirty looks. Cole was lurking, but he kept scaring the Healers so Cassandra ordered him out. They said you were about to wake up. I offered to bring the food."

"Oh," she said, sitting up a bit more and taking another drink of water. "Thanks."

"It's fine. I wanted to talk to you. About Hawke."

She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. "Varric…"

"I need you to promise me you're not going to beat yourself up about it."

She looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Listen, I'm… I'm heartbroken, okay?" he said harshly. "I've spent the last couple'a days writing letters. It's been miserable. And I talked to Alistair, I know what happened… or at least what he said what happened. He could'a been King, you know that? Maybe the world would have been better off if he had been."

He was silent for a moment, then continued. "Hawke was right. Corypheus is our fault. I brought the red lyrium to the surface, and Hawke and I are the ones who broke the barrier the Grey Wardens had built to keep him contained. Hawke wanted to be the one who stayed behind. She… told me as much before she left. She wanted to die fighting him. She couldn't live with the guilt of what happened in Kirkwall, of what's happening now. We broke the world, her and I, and she went down trying to fix it."

"Varric," Errol said softly.

"It's not your fault, Sunshine. You or anyone else's."

She took his hand; it was blocky and square, like the rest of him, the fingers calloused. "It's not your fault either."

He glared at her. "Of course it—"

"Corypheus was already poisoning the minds of those Grey Wardens before you let him out. How much longer could they have stood it? How much longer before someone else came along? He knew about the red lyrium, he has ties to the blight. If you hadn't brought the idol up he would have just gone down to get more. All of this would have happened anyway. Varric, he's the monster. You and Hawke were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He shook his head. "Story of our lives."

"I'm sorry she died. She was a good person."

"She was the best." His voice was thick. He rubbed his nose. "Anyway, I gotta… I gotta go. I just didn't want to think of you lying up here beating yourself up about it. I know how you get."

As he stood and started to walk to the stairs, Errol was seized with a sudden impulse. "Varric." He stopped and turned around. Her hands shook as they gripped the blankets, but she looked him straight in the eye. "I'm a spirit. When I crossed over from my world the Breach ripped my soul from my body and reformed me from the Fade. My real body is unconscious and dying in my world. That's why I can use magic. No one knows. They'd think I was a demon. But after everything, after what you did for Cole, after what happened… you have a right to know."

He stared at her in shock for a moment, the cogs in his brain turning. Then he slowly nodded. "Okay, Sunshine."

"Okay? That's it?"

"I mean, a lot of things make a lot more sense now. But like I said to Cole, a person's a person. You're Errol. Who cares what you're made of."

"Everyone else."

He shrugged. "Fuck 'em. You're the Inquisitor. Just keep doing what you're doing and you'll be fine."

Her shoulders relaxed and her hands released their death grip on the blankets. She smiled, her first real smile in a long time. "Varric. You're probably the best person here, you know that?"

"Only you would say that, Sunshine." He shook his head and kept walking, then paused at the threshold. "Does Cullen know?" She looked away. "Ah. He didn't take it well, I'm guessing?"

"Not at first. He said some… hurtful things. He tried to apologize, but…"

"You should accept that apology."

Her head shot up. "He—"

"Was a templar from the age of what, thirteen, fourteen? Had a lot of bad ideas drilled into his head and did a lot of bad shit. It takes a lot for a person like that to come around and admit he was wrong. You saw his tombstone, right? In the Fade."

"Yeah."

"Being Leashed, it said. He doesn't want that life anymore. It's why he's not taking lyrium." She raised her eyebrows and he nodded. "Oh yeah, I know. I recognize those shakes. I'm a writer who's been around my fair share of templars in my life, I'm perceptive. He's breaking all of his chains. Give him some slack. Besides, everyone from here to Val Royeaux knows you two want to hump like bunnies."

"Varric!"

"I'm just sayin'… if you've got a shot at happiness, you should take it. Life's too short to regret. Believe me, I know."

With that he turned and vanished, so that all Errol could hear was the sound of his boots thumping down the stairs. She popped another piece of bread into her mouth. Her stomach was hollow and starving, but she didn't feel sick anymore, and the easy meal went down and stayed down.

She reached for the water on the dresser and only then noticed the letter sticking out from under the pitcher. Sitting up, she placed the tray next to her on the huge bed and pulled the letter out, careful not to drip any water on it. Her name was written on the front in Cullen's handwriting.

Inside was a single folded piece of parchment that simply read: _They can interrogate you later. Come and see me first. Please._

Errol flopped onto the bed and groaned. The butterflies were back. Stupid ex-templar. Stupid emotions. Stupid Varric.

A tiny smile found its way onto her face. Despite everything, she felt absolved. Despite everything, it was good to be alive.

* * *

She pretended to be asleep when the Healer came to check in on her. Once the door closed, Errol bolted out of bed and dressed, brushing her thankfully clean hair and leaving it to fall in waves past her shoulders. She put on a blue shift dress and belted it at the waist, slipped her feet into soft shoes, and draped a woolen shawl around her head so that her face was obscured. Then she left her room by the secret exit, the one that was still cobwebby and partially sealed off, that she was only supposed to use if she was in need of a quick escape. Even some of her advisors didn't know about it; she had discovered it by mistake, though Leliana, with her eyes and ears everywhere, quickly found out.

She made her way through unused rooms, thick with dust, her feet stirring small clouds as she passed. When she got to the courtyard the sun was just setting and everyone was heading inside for dinner, so it was easy to walk in the shadows. She kept her head down, hurried up the tower steps, and slipped inside his office.

He was sitting at his desk and reading some document, a very deep furrow in his brow. At first he didn't realize anyone had come in, and she leaned against the closed door, watching him. He was still in his armor, his protection against the world, and she realized that after all of this time he must feel naked without it. He rubbed his neck, and she could almost feel the pain of his tight muscles. He looked exhausted.

_Life's too short to regret_, Varric had said. But if Solas was right, her life wasn't short. Her life might go on for a long time. Cullen's life, however, would be over in the blink of an eye. That is, if they both survived the impending battle. They might both die in the next week. Nothing was certain.

She shifted, and he looked up, startled, his eyes turning from wary to warm when he saw her, and despite everything she loved him all over again.

"You came," he said softly, and stood, taking in her figure. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress since that day back at Haven."

Errol stepped into the light and slipped the makeshift hood from her shoulders. "No one else has either. It's part of my disguise."

Cullen smiled a little at that. "It suits you. The dress, I mean." He approached her and raised his hand as if to touch her bare skin, then thought better of it. She noticed that he wasn't wearing his gloves. "Thank you for coming."

"It was a pretty intense note for so few words."

"Yes, well…" He rubbed his neck again, this time shyly. "I… thank you for coming."

"You already said that."

"Ah, so I did."

"Cullen, about—"

"I want to give you something."

Errol was silent. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't this. "A gift?"

"Yes. No. Not really." He sighed, sat on the edge of his desk, and picked up a closed box. "I wanted to think of some way to get you to… trust me again after everything that happened. I wanted to show you that any trust you might place in me is earned, even if you can't… even if we can only be friends. At the very least I want us to be that again." He turned the box around in his hands, and she noticed that they were trembling.

"I told you before that I'm no longer taking lyrium. I struggle with it every day. I have… good days and bad days. Some days the desire to take it again is so strong…" He trailed off. "But I have not faltered. I'm no longer leashed to that life."

"That's good," she said, stepping toward him. "You're doing amazing, Cullen."

He stood and abruptly put the box in her hand. "This is my philter," he said. "My lyrium kit and dispenser and what little lyrium I have left. I want you to have it."

Errol stood there, shocked. "Me? Why?"

"Because I don't need it anymore." He looked at her with a very raw expression on his face. "Because you're the only woman I trust with it."

"What should I do with it?"

Cullen's eyes didn't leave hers. "Whatever you like. Burn it."

Her breath caught. "You can't mean that."

"I do. I won't be leashed to that life any longer. It almost ruined me. It made me hateful. It almost…" He seemed to have a hard time getting the words out. "It almost made me lose you."

Errol thought for a moment, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "You're sure?"

"I am," he said, his voice low and intimate, without hesitation.

She held out the box. "Here. Put your hands around mine."

He did so, his larger hands covering hers. "What are you going to do?"

"Break the leash." She looked him in the eye. "Do you trust me?"

The answer was immediate. "With my life."

She nodded and then concentrated. The box lit up with flame. He flinched in shock but didn't remove his hands. As it burned, the fire turned blue, wreathing their skin but not touching them. It burned the box down, burned the metal into pools of silver and then white smoke, until all that rested in their cupped hands were ashes.

"You are free," she said softly, and his eyes widened as the ashes began to glow and float away, carried by a nonexistent wind.

Very gently, he stepped closer, slowly moving his hands up her arms, his eyes watching her face for any signs of reluctance or hesitation. She stayed perfectly still, her heart a hummingbird in her throat, as his fingers trailed past her shoulders and neck, until he cupped her face in his hands.

"You freed me," he murmured as he dipped his head down to tenderly brush her lips with his. She leaned into it, the knot inside of her chest loosening, and brought her hands up to hook around his breastplate and pull him closer. Shyly, she flitted her tongue across her lips, and was rewarded with a soft groan as he deepened the kiss.

The door flew open with a crash. "Commander, the Inquisitor is not in her chambers!"

"Oh for Maker's sake!" he exclaimed, stepping away to glower at Cassandra. "Is everyone forever hunting down Errol or only when she is with me?"

Cassandra's face was bright red. "Cullen!" she exclaimed. "I… I did not know!"

"Well, now you do," he said with atypical impatience, looking at the door significantly, his hands curled at his sides. Cassandra fidgeted and for once seemed uncertain of what to say.

"Not that I am one to get in the way of anyone's… respite, but Leliana is insisting on a detailed report of the Inquisitor's time in the Fade now that she has awoken."

"Always Leliana," Cullen sighed, rubbing his temples. "We will be there in a moment, Cassandra."

"I will wait outside," Cassandra said stiffly. When she finally left the room Cullen turned and kissed Errol again, gathering her into his arms and slanting his mouth across hers as her fingers found purchase in his neatly tamed curls.

"It seems that we are never to have a moment's peace," he said when they broke apart. Errol ran her hands through his mussed hair, straightening it.

"Cullen," she said, a worried frown on her face. "There's one more thing you should know if we're… if this is going to be anything."

He drew her in with one arm so that she fit into his side and looked down at her expectantly. "There's more?"

"Isn't there always?" She sighed. "Solas thinks that, with this whole 'me being a spirit thing,' well, that… I might not age. I'm still hoping that I can become human again, here. He says it's not possible."

"Hmm." Cullen kissed the top of her head. "Solas seems to have a vested interest in keeping you a spirit."

"He does, but I don't know why."

"So he's probably not the most reliable person to speak to when it comes to what's possible or not. Look at Cole. He became human…ish."

"He says I'm not like Cole."

"He also wanted Cole to stay a spirit, didn't he?"

Errol nodded thoughtfully. Cullen's arm tightened around her. "We'll find a way," he promised. "There must be a way, and until then we'll live our lives day by day."

She wrapped her arm around his waist. "Day by day."

Outside, Cassandra pounded on the door. "What are you doing in there? No, wait, don't tell me. Just be quick! Or _you_ can tell Leliana why we're late!"

Errol snorted and walked with Cullen to the door. As they passed Cassandra, she leaned over. "It's just like one of your books come to life!" she whispered theatrically. Cassandra's face turned even redder, and Errol giggled all the way to the War Room.

"Inquisitor!" Leliana greeted her brightly when they arrived. Too brightly. "I see you've awoken. So glad you've decided to grace us with your presence." Her voice grew softer. "You should be aware, I made the mistake of not guarding that exit to your room once. I won't make it again."

Errol stared at her blankly, but the Spymaster just guided her into the room where Josephine was waiting with snacks. "Now, shall we begin? It's necessary to hear of your experiences in the Fade as soon as possible. We've already recorded the experiences of your companions, and Alistair is on his way to Weisshaupt to speak with the last of the Grey Wardens. There is so much to do before the ball at Halamshiral, you'll barely have a moment to yourself."

Errol had a sinking feeling as the doors closed behind her. That sounded suspiciously like a threat.


	20. Interruptions

_**AN: Why so short? Because once again, dear readers, a good part of this chapter is only available on Archive of Our Own, under the username Unstoppablei, due to NSFW content that doesn't fall under this website's guidelines. So come on over to read the full chapter! Link on my profile (don't forget to copy and paste). Thanks, sorry for the disruption!**_

* * *

**Chapter 19: Interruptions**

Errol was going over documents in her chambers several days later when there was a knock at her door.

"Come in!" she said, checking to make sure that she was presentable. After the dancing in her underwear debacle that Sera still wasn't letting her live down, she now tried to dress in more Ferelden fashions even when alone. Now she was wearing a thin shift with a warm red robe over it, knotted at the waist, the furry collar high enough to cover the scar on the crux of her neck.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs. She stood from the desk and stretched, and then Cullen was there.

Errol was pretty sure she made an "eep!" as she lowered her arms and surreptitiously tried to smooth her morning hair. He wasn't in his armor, instead wearing a buttoned blue coat over dark pants and leather boots, his hands bare. His hair was mussed and there was more stubble on his face than usual, as if he had left in a rush.

"Good morning," she said awkwardly, curling her bare toes against the stone floor. "I, umm… would you like some breakfast?" She gestured to the bread and fruit plate on the corner of her desk.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a flush creeping up to his face. "Perhaps later," he said. "I didn't eat this morning."

"Is everything all right?" Errol asked, crossing to him. He smiled down at her and touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Everything is wonderful. I just… wanted to see you first thing, before the day fully started and we are pulled in a hundred different directions."

"Oh." Now it was her turn to blush. "Well, we do have some time. I was just going over plans for the ball, but my final dress fitting isn't scheduled for another two hours."

"Two hours?" he asked, and leaned down to ghost his lips along the outer shell of her ear. "I can think of a lot we can do in two hours."

"Can you now?" she murmured, a smiled curled up in her tone. _Finally. _They hadn't done anything but talk and steal a few heated kisses over the past few days. It had felt good, like getting to know and trust him all over again, but Errol knew that he felt as keenly as she did that the time for talking was over. She began to undo the buttons on his coat as his kisses moved down her neck, his nimble fingers untangling the knot on her robe. "Is that why you came here without armor today? To make things easy for me?"

"There are an awful lot of clasps and buckles," he said, sliding the robe off of her shoulders so that it pooled at her feet. Suddenly he paused, and his hand came up to the scar. "Maker, what is this? It looks like an animal bite. Were you mauled by a wolf?"

"They frequently attack us. This one just… got me. You can see why I usually cover it." He started to trace it with his fingers and she felt the magic stir, and jerked away. "Don't… don't touch it. It's still very tender."

Cullen obliged, moving his hand back to her waist. "It's amazing you didn't bleed to death." He shuddered and buried his face in her hair. "To think, the number of times I've almost lost you and didn't even know it."

"I'm here now," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "Safe, alive. With you. Dressed in almost nothing."

He pulled back and took in the sheerness of her slip for the first time. "That you are." He brought his hands up to where her nipples were peaking the fabric and gently brushed his thumbs along them. She bit her lip and pushed her chest out, aching for more friction, and he chuckled.

"My, aren't we eager," he said, wrapping his arms around the small of her back and pulling her in for a long kiss. When they broke apart his voice was lower, huskier. "Shall we move this to the bed?"

"It only took well over a year," she said, grabbing at his lapels, but he surprised her by sweeping her legs out from under her and carrying her to the bed.

"Minx," he said, putting her down and tossing aside his coat before crawling over her so that they were nose-to-nose, one forearm keeping him elevated, the other hand sliding her shift up to reveal that she wore nothing underneath. "Do you think this time has been easy for me?" His breath was becoming ragged. "Maker, how I have fantasized about you, dreamed of having you under me."

Errol tugged his head down and ran her tongue along the scar on his lip. "Do you think you're the only one?" she whispered, and he shuddered, his hand moving between her thighs.

"Errol, are you sure?" he asked, and he sounded like he was hanging on by a thread. "After what happened, this isn't— this isn't too fast?"

She nudged at his hand with her hips, opening herself to him. "Over a year," she reminded him, hands clutching his shirt. "If anything, you should go faster, _Commander._"

The rumble in his chest was somewhere between a groan and a purr as he bent his head to her neck. "So that's how it is to be?" She felt his stubble rasp against her skin as his teeth grazed the column of her throat. "Errol—"

There was a knock on the door, swiftly followed by a call so loud it must have been magically amplified. "Apologies, Inquisitor, Leliana says Lady Josephine is ready and waiting with the dressmaker for the final fitting."

Errol's head jerked up and nearly collided with Cullen's. "That's not supposed to be for two hours!"

The voice below somehow heard her. "She moved it up. To now. The dressmaker will be in your quarters in ten minutes. Please be ready and waiting." With that, the voice vanished.

They stared at each other. "Is this… a joke?" Errol said, her head still cloudy with lust. "I… ten _minutes_?"

Cullen closed his eyes and groaned. "Leliana doesn't joke. She's… Maker. I… must… I need a cold bath. Immediately."

"Next time," Errol promised, kissing him chastely on his forehead.

* * *

Errol was starting to think it wasn't just a series of bad coincidences.

They'd started to get creative. She'd thought of the barn, but Blackwall was always lingering there, and the moment he'd stepped away Sera had shown up, attempting a prank. Spare rooms weren't any good - it seemed that people just traipsed through rooms as if the locks weren't even there. Nothing in Skyhold seemed to be free of people forever searching for them.

When they finally left a lengthy War Room meeting the next evening, Cullen took her by the hand and led her down a side hall.

"Cullen, where are we—" she started, but he silenced her with a look over his shoulder.

They went down a short flight of steps and around another corner, and Errol suddenly found herself in the holy grail of Skyhold - where they kept the wine.

"Cullen, this is—" she started, excited, but he cut her off by spinning her around and pinning her to a massive barrel.

"Private," he growled, kissing her hard. He took her bottom lip between his teeth and pulled lightly at it, before releasing it and sliding his tongue into her mouth, his one hand in her hair, the other running along her leg to hook it around his waist. She gripped at his neck, his hair, his fur mantle, trying to find purchase anywhere she could. When he pulled away his eyes were bright, almost fevered.

"Maker, but I am tired of these interruptions," he breathed, his gaze never leaving hers as he removed his gloves one at a time by biting the tips of the fingers and tugging them off, letting them drop on the floor. Her leg was still around his waist, and he slid his now-bare fingers down and massaged her through her thin leggings. "I will take you here on the floor if I must, but I will have you."

"Get this damn armor off and you have a deal," she said.

Someone cleared their throat, and they both looked up.

One of the Spymaster's henchmen was dangling upside-down from a beam above them like it was normal. "Leliana says she needs to go over who will be accompanying the Inquisitor to the ball," he said, dropping a stack of papers and swinging away. "Immediately!"

Cullen stared at the papers like they were Corypheus himself. "She's doing this on purpose," he said deliriously. "She's trying to kill me. Am I hallucinating? Is this the lyrium withdrawal?"

Errol just sighed and combed her fingers through his hair. "Do you want to kill her together?"

* * *

"We must go over who will accompany us to Halamshiral."

Errol groaned and put her head in her hands. "Whoever you want, I don't care."

"You should care," Leliana reprimanded her. "Who we choose is vital, a combination of delicate force, strategy, and court approval. Now, Josephine, Cullen, and myself will accompany you, but I would recommend three other companions for the evening. And no, Cole can't be one of them. He'll terrify the court with his lurking."

Errol sighed. "Fine. Just three?"

"I said delicate force. You can't show up with too many numbers or you'll make the court suspicious."

Errol sat up and blew a stray hair out of her face. "Okay, who are you thinking of?"

"Definitely Varric, though Cassandra would disagree with me. He's a celebrity in Val Royeaux, everyone reads his books, plus he's silver tongued and has an ear for gossip. I'm torn between Cassandra and Vivienne - Cassandra is of noble blood and has a famous story to her name, but she is blunt and does not play the Game well. Vivienne is a master of the Game, but she has left her post and been notably replaced by another, which could lead to the wrong kind of gossip. Thoughts?"

"Why not both?"

"I have someone else in mind for the final spot."

Errol mulled it over as she took a sip of water. "Vivienne. She's a bitch, but she's the best bitch in the room. She'll insult them all and they'll think it's a compliment."

"Good." Leliana made a note on a piece of paper. "The final companion should be Solas."

Errol almost choked on her drink. "Why? He's an elf. Won't they look down on that?"

"Exactly. Elves are servants to the upper class. We'll introduce him as your servant and hide that he's a powerful mage. He'll be able to hear things we won't, and go places we can't." She looked at Errol with a raised eyebrow. "Is that a problem, Inquisitor?"

"I… I just don't think Solas will take kindly to being introduced as a servant."

"He will if he wishes to attend the ball and help stop the assassination." Her eyes narrowed. "You two are very curious. Half of the time you barely speak. The other half you're at each other's throats, though no one can seem to figure out why." She sighed. "And I do wish you'd cease conducting meetings with Dorian in the library simply to drink and sing along to those awful screeches you call music. I know it's in part to rattle Solas, but sound carries up as well as down, you know."

"Sorry. We'll find a new place. As for Solas and I… we have a… complicated relationship."

"Hmm," Leliana said, gathering up her paperwork. "Just make sure it doesn't complicate your relationship with Cullen." She stood as if to leave.

"Is that why you keep sending your minions to interrupt us? You don't trust me with him?"

Leliana looked at her with a deceptively blank face. "I have no idea what you're talking about. There is simply so much to do lately." Her lips quirked upward, just the tiniest amount. "It is a pity that Iron Bull and Dorian found their way to the War Room yesterday, isn't it? I wonder how they ever got that idea. Strange times, indeed." She shook her head and left the room.

Errol groaned and thumped her forehead against the table. "I really am going to kill her."


	21. Completions

_**AN: Oh, the pain of once again leaving you with an insanely short chapter due to NSFW content. Come check out the whole thing on Archive of Our Own, under the username Unstoppablei. Link on my profile, if you're into that kind of thing (don't forget to copy and paste). Thanks!**_

* * *

**CHAPTER 20: Completions**

Errol hesitated at the entrance to his room. She hadn't entered it in what felt like a long time. The walls were almost completely painted, and just as beautiful as they had looked in the Fade, though the artwork was different. He was painting one now, his back to her, his arm reaching upward to swipe a black shadow across a blank space.

"You can come in," he said, without looking. "Unless you wish to stand there staring."

"I… okay," she said, edging inside. He turned and put the palette down, looking at her expectantly. "I… we… Leliana thinks you should accompany us to Halamshiral."

He seemed a little surprised, then wary. "In what capacity?"

She looked away, biting her lip. He walked toward her, his cold exterior cracking. "Errol, what is the matter?"

"I don't like it," she snapped. "She wants you to pose as a servant."

Understanding washed over his face. "It makes sense," he said thoughtfully. "I assume she wants me to act as reconnaissance? Perhaps interact with the palace's elves? Intriguing idea."

"I don't like it," she repeated. He tilted his head.

"I have played many roles in my time. Why does this one upset you?"

"You… you're not a servant!" she said, gesturing toward him. "You can dress like a hobo all you want but I won't have them say you're serving me, or anyone. You're too proud for that."

He chuckled lightly. "You've found me out."

"What?"

"Did you know, vhenan, that the word Solas means Pride in elven?" he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She scowled.

"I told you not to call me that anymore."

"It's just a word… vhenan." He dropped his hand. "But you are right, playing the servant does not come easily to me. However, we must all play our parts if we are to save the Empress and defeat Corypheus. Just don't ask me to fetch you anything."

"I won't," she said, then hesitated, torn between leaving and asking some of the questions that had been weighing on her. Being around him had become a delicate dance - she couldn't do it for too long, or he would try to draw her in, like a wolf circling prey. His aloof act didn't last very long anymore.

"Was there something else?" His hands were behind his back, once again the academic. She overthought everything now: was it an attempt to make her comfortable, to throw her off balance before the next attack? Or was he just simply standing there?

"I've been wanting to ask you… about what happened in the Fade. The Nightmare speaking English, my language."

"It's an interesting revelation. What would you like to know about it?"

"You've been in my head in the Fade. My memories. Does that mean you speak English?"

He shook his head. "Everything since the moment you set foot here has been in the Common Tongue. The Nightmare had to sift deep inside of you to pull out your language." He paused, his blue eyes searching hers. "What did it say to you?"

"What did it say to _you_?"

He smiled a little. "Point taken."

"What if someone came to my world? What would happen?"

"Planning a trip?"

"What? No. I'm talking about Corypheus or one of his lackeys."

"Ah." His face relaxed. "It would be similar to your experience coming here, I think, though modified as your world has no Fade to reform your body. The intruder would be a spirit, and perhaps would need a host body to survive. It's all speculative. They also would absorb knowledge as you did, including imprinting the most prominent nearby language. It's a fascinating prospect, but hopefully one we will never see come to pass. We don't know how such a crossing would affect your world, being as it is without magic."

"Fascinating isn't really the word I'd use. Terrifying, maybe."

"You still wish to return?" His voice was soft.

She shook herself out of her thoughts. "Oh, I… no, not really. I couldn't live in that world again, I've changed too much. But I do wish there was some way that I could say goodbye. They've kept me on life support for so long, it's been what, almost a year and a half now? They must be grieving every day. If I could just tell them that I'm okay, let them know that I'm happy, or at least, happy-ish…" She laugh self-deprecatingly. "Stupid thought."

"Nothing is impossible," he murmured, then looked at her. "I will make preparations for Halamshiral immediately."

* * *

It was the night before they were to leave for the Winter Palace. They would be over a week on the road, traveling in style for once, as a display of power to the nobles of Orlais. And while there would be some privacy in the fancier-than-normal tents erected at night, there would be precious little of it.

Errol knocked on Cullen's door and he opened it immediately, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her inside.

"Good," he said, sounding a bit crazed. "Help me with this."

"Cullen, what are you…" Errol looked and saw that the bookshelf had been pushed away from the wall. "Are you rearranging your furniture?"

"Not exactly," he said, moving to the other side of it. "Can you lift the far end? Is it too heavy?"

"I spend most of my time scrambling up rocks and fighting people, I'll be fine," she said, bending her knees and bracing. "Plus, magic!" She reached out with her magic and shifted the heavy shelves. "Where to?"

"The door."

She paused. "Come again?"

"I am barricading the door," he said grimly. "No one is getting in or out of this room tonight." He met her eyes across the bookcase. "Now, lift."

They strained, and with the help of magic the door was soon completely covered by the huge bookcase. Errol stood and wiped sweat from her forehead, admiring their handiwork.

"Not good enough," Cullen said critically, hands on his hips. She noticed that he was barefoot, in nothing but a long-sleeved shirt and leather pants, his hair mussed like he had been running his hands through it. "Put up a barrier. And make sure that the hole in the roof is covered as well."

"What kind?" she asked, still confused but humoring him.

"Both protective and soundproof."

Understanding dawned on her. "Ah." She waved her hands and concentrated, and the barriers sprang up. "There."

"They'll hold even if you lose concentration? They won't bother you or drain your energy?"

Errol shook her head. "Once they're there they're there, and I can forget about them unless they're broken."

"Good," he said, coming up behind her and sweeping her hair away from her neck. He leaned in, his voice pitched very low. "Now take your clothes off and sit on my desk."

She jumped a little. "Cullen—"

Gently he turned her and backed her into the bookshelf, his hand cupping her cheek. "The barriers are up, Errol," he breathed. "The door is barricaded. All of Skyhold could burn tonight and there will be no interruptions, by Leliana or anyone else. I intend to have you all to myself, and I intend to have you over—" he pressed a kiss to her neck, "and over—" a kiss to her jaw, "and over—" a kiss to the corner of her lips, "and over again."

* * *

_AN: So sad I have to leave it here! But you know where to find the rest!_


	22. The Eagle Has Landed

**Chapter 21: The Eagle Has Landed**

Errol inspected herself in the mirror critically, her hands smoothing the front of her intricate dress. "I don't know, isn't it a bit… low cut?"

"I told you, we have to give them a little something to compensate for the rest of the neckline," Josephine said reassuringly, adjusting her own mask. "It's nothing they're not accustomed to, this is the highest of high fashion."

They were inside the special offsite quarters set up for them, with all of the honors and welcome required for a major player such as the Inquisition now was. Errol felt queasy just thinking about what lay ahead, and ran her hands compulsively down her stomach again, trying to breathe in the corset. The dress was beautifully made, all green threaded with gold, tight around her chest and waist before flowing out like a waterfall around her hips. It had a high neck that was open in the front and cut scandalously low, her cleavage on full display, with sheer draping sleeves that glittered slightly as she moved. Just at her collarbone hung a heavy golden chain with the sigil of the Inquisition. She wore a half-mask of golden filigree, and her hair was a artful mass on top of her head, strategically placed curls spilling from the pile. Her lips were painted a deep, lush red.

"It is a lovely dress. A shame it must have such a high neck, but it covers your scar nicely," Leliana said, appearing at her elbow and looking at Errol's figure in the mirror. Her dress was pale lilac, her mask delicate and birdlike, red hair for once uncovered. "Odd, though," she mused.

"What's odd?" Errol asked, stepping off the pedestal and into soft green slippers. At least they weren't making her wear heels.

"It's a grievous wound, one that would have nearly killed you and surely would have needed immediate medical and magical attention to survive. Yet none of your traveling companions have any recollection of you receiving such an injury. It's as if the scar simply appeared one day, along with your penchant for wearing high-necked vests and coats."

"Do you regularly go around asking how people got their injuries, or am I special?"

"Oh, you're certainly special." The tone of her voice made it clear it wasn't a compliment. "Perhaps we can discuss this more after the ball."

"Perhaps," Errol said as calmly as she could. "Isn't the bigger question how I'm supposed to fight in this corset?"

"With grace, Inquisitor," Josephine said. "The best we could do are the straps under your dress. You will have to be careful, and use your barriers wisely. Hopefully you will not see much combat tonight."

Errol laughed. "Well of course now it's bound to happen." She shifted, uncomfortable. "All right, let's get this show on the road."

* * *

She met with Gaspard in the garden and he escorted her in, arrogantly underdressed and unshaven for such an event, but she flattered him and giggled and he ate it up. She loved it when men thought she was stupid. It was always so much more gratifying when she pulled the rug out from under them.

She didn't meet with the rest of the team until they were in the anteroom, waiting to be called upon. Gaspard left her there with a bow and a kiss that lingered a moment too long on her knuckles, and when he walked away Errol turned to them and rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to wash that hand for a long, long time when this is all done," she said, then paused, noticing that they were all staring at her. "What?"

Varric let out a low whistle, his mask square and hammered to look like stone, his red shirt silken but still unbuttoned to show off far too much chest hair. "So Sunshine cleans up nice. Who would have guessed it."

Josephine squealed girlishly. "It's all thanks to me and my wonderful Antivan tailor, here, twirl!" she said, holding up Errol's arm and forcing her to spin.

Vivienne raised an eyebrow under her white mask. "You won't wholly embarrass us," she said, sounding grudgingly impressed.

"Why Vivienne, was that… almost a compliment?" Errol teased, and Vivienne sniffed.

"Almost."

She finally turned to Cullen and Josephine squeaked again and gave her a little push. Errol approached him with trepidation. He looked very handsome in a simple mask and military uniform of navy blue, his sash a dark cream. His eyes were wide, and pink tinged what she could see of his cheeks as he stared at her.

"My lady," he finally said when he had regained speech, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. "You look wonderful." He looked like he wanted to say more but didn't, simply kissed her palm again and released her.

She looked around for the final member of their party. Solas was leaning against the wall, his hands behind his back, the only one of them not wearing a mask. He was dressed simply in tan and blue, looking very much like one of the palace's servants; he was even wearing shoes, which was a first for him.

He wasn't looking at her, but when she turned their eyes met, and he nodded and straightened. "Now that we are all here, I will leave you before you're introduced," he said. At her quizzical look, he explained: "Servants don't get introduced."

Errol frowned. She still didn't like this. "Solas…"

He shook his head as he approached, then surprised her by also taking her hand, kissing the back of it. "Don't feel bad. It is simply a mask I am wearing tonight, as you are." He raised his head and looked her straight in the eyes. "And I am very good at wearing masks, Inquisitor."

Then he turned and left the room on silent feet.

Cullen took her arm as they waited; he would escort her out, but she would walk alone when she was introduced. "What was that all about?"

"He has issues," she said quietly, and Cullen frowned.

"Clearly."

The doors opened, and he squeezed her arm. "You're going to be fine. I'll wait for you after you meet with the Empress and we'll greet the room, as planned. Then you can make your excuses and—"

"Go snooping?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Precisely."

The man with the scroll cleared his throat, and Cullen reluctantly released her arm as Gaspard began to make his way down the stairs. "Now presenting," the man said loudly. "Grand Duke Gaspard De Chalons, and accompanying him Lady Inquisitor Kerr!"

Whispers erupted across the room as Errol appeared at the top of the stairs and dipped into a low curtsy. On the far end, Empress Celene did the same. Slowly, and praying that she wouldn't trip, Errol gathered her skirts and began to descend, her heart pounding in her throat as the eyes of the entire court were on her.

She held her head high and walked steadily across the room, just as Josephine had taught her. When she finally reached the landing just below the Empresses' she curtseyed again.

"Lady Inquisitor, we welcome you to the Winter Palace," Celene said. "Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible." The Duchess dipped a curtsey while Celene continued to eye Errol with interest. "Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer's day. Tell me, is it true what they say? Did you in fact cross over from another world?"

"The stories are true, Empress, but nothing in my world could rival the exquisite beauty that I see before me," Errol said smoothly, waited a beat, then grinned a little. "The palace, I mean. It's incredible."

Celene looked pleased. "I hope you are able take in some of its delights during your time here. And I hope, once the negotiations conclude, that we are able to speak more. I am interested to hear about your world. It sounds… fascinating."

"You need only say the word," Errol said, then curtseyed again and stepped to the side.

"That was wonderful," Leliana said when she found Errol on the dance floor. "I didn't expect you to pick up on the Game so fast." She sounded pleased with Errol for the first time in a long time.

"Everyone loves to be flirted with," Errol said, winking. "Especially someone whose jilted lover is here. I figured she might have a wounded ego that would need a little stroking."

"Who's stroking what now?" Cullen asked, coming up to her side.

Leliana actually laughed at that. She seemed different at court, more relaxed even though they were in the middle of the viper pit. "I'll leave you two to make the rounds, but don't take too much time. Come and see me when you've finished." Then she was gone, off to speak to some Duchess whose name Errol should have known but when she tried to remember she just became turned on.

Cullen took her arm. "You look amazing," he said quietly into her ear as he escorted her around the room. "That dress, Maker's breath. It looks incredible on but all I find myself wanting to do is take it off with my teeth."

"That would take some considerable effort," she said, smiling fakely at someone they passed. "It's more complicated than it looks."

"It will be worth it."

"Will be?"

"The night will come to an end, and you will need to get undressed…"

She turned into him on the pretext of searching for someone in the crowd. "You better keep those thoughts to yourself, Commander Rutherford," she breathed into his ear, "unless you want me to forgo the mission and drag you into an empty room."

"You know, someday we won't have missions," he said as she stepped away again, apparently not able to find whoever she was looking for.

"And then?" she asked, her lips barely moving.

He dipped his head close to the shell of her ear. "And then you'll be very, very sore." He straightened. "I'll see you upstairs, Inquisitor."

Then he bowed and left.

Errol closed her eyes, wishing she could massage her temples. The mission, right, the mission. Had to stop an assassination. Yes. That. She could do that.

She turned to the crowd. Time to find Leliana.

* * *

"I was beginning to think you were having too much fun dancing."

Errol snorted and leaned against the wall, a potted plant between them so it wouldn't look as if they were speaking. "I haven't had a single dance. It's been all espionage and backstabbing."

"Ah, I love court intrigue," Solas said wistfully, sipping a glass of wine. "The heady blend of power, danger, and sex that permeates these events. It's intoxicating."

Something about the way he said that made her flush; she was glad there was a plant between them. "I, ah — have you seen anything useful?"

"Not as much as I would have liked," he admitted. "The servants know I'm not one of them, but I'm still nearly invisible to the nobles. The elves are all doubly suspicious of intruders - it seems they're all working for Briala. She has massive influence here. But more interesting is the name on everyone's lips is Duchess Florianne. She apparently put in many a favor to make this night happen, burning through whatever was owed her, be it blackmail, payback, or gifts, to help her cousin arrange the peace talks, leaving herself with precious little power in the eyes of any noble."

"Why would she deplete herself like that?" Errol murmured. "Unless…"

"Exactly. I doubt it's for love of her cousin, or her brother." He sipped his drink. Errol eyed it, and he caught her gaze and shrugged.

"I've done all I can, and the wine is excellent."

Errol tried to peer at him without looking obvious. "You're acting oddly. Does wearing shoes bother you that much?"

He made a noise in the back of his throat. "I'm going to ignore that. What else have you discovered?"

She briefly outlined her meeting with Morrigan and the brief skirmish before she spoke with Briala. "People are being killed already," she said. "This whole thing will blow up soon."

He sighed and poured the last of his drink into the potted plant. "Pity." Then: "What did you think of the famed Morrigan?"

"She gave me the shivers. Like her eyes see too much." Errol unconsciously pulled up the collar of her dress. "That reminds me, Leliana is asking questions about your mark. Why no one remembers my being injured. That sort of thing."

He sighed again. "The magic is old and weak. She should not have been able to keep it in her mind long enough to even investigate it. But it will do its job. It will grow stronger. In time, she will find herself forgetting about it more and more. I would not worry. I doubt she'll speak of it to you again."

"Right," Errol said, nodding. "Okay, it's go time. I think it's best you stay near me. I have a feeling shit's about to go down."

"Eloquent as always." He chuckled softly as he followed her out of the room. "Inquisitor, at this point, I don't think you could get rid of me if you tried."

* * *

After the dance with Florianne, Errol was sure she was a part of it. And also that shit was definitely going to go down. Still, she had to follow up on Florianne's tip, trap or not.

"The eagle has landed," she said to Varric as she passed him. He looked confused.

"What?"

She huffed. "We talked about this… oh come on, it's time!"

Understanding dawned as he walked with her. "Ohhhh, yeah. I was drunk for that conversation, remember?"

"God damnnit Varric you ruin everything," she muttered, motioning for Vivienne and Solas. "No wait, Vivienne ruins everything. Don't repeat that."

"Won't."

They made their way to the drop location where their weapons had been stashed. Errol reached for the belts under her dress and gathered the material up at multiple locations, looping and bustling so that it now reached her thighs, until she hit the back.

"Here, allow me."

Errol jerked in surprise to see Solas kneel at her side, take the final belt, and sweep up her dress, his fingers trailing along the back of her thigh as he did so, causing a shiver to run up her spine. She swallowed and looked around, but Vivienne was busy removing her ridiculous headdress and Varric was calibrating Bianca.

"There," he said, tightening the strap and standing. "Perhaps not the most modest, but you'll be able to move easily."

She tried to smile as she pulled on a pair of boots. "That's what the shorts underneath are for."

"Ah," he said, then reached toward her. She stood stock still, not sure what was happening, but he merely unknotted the silken string around her head. "You forgot to remove your mask."

"… thanks," Errol said, putting it aside, and she could have sworn he smirked, but when she looked again his face was solemn. "Okay, everyone ready? Let's just hope it's not a rift."

* * *

"It's a rift. God DAMNIT."

"Oh, Inquisitor," Florianne said, feigning surprised. "I'm so pleased that you could finally join us. I was starting to worry that you weren't going to walk into the trap I'd taken so much trouble to set up, and I'd hate to disappoint Corypheus."

"Let me guess: Kill your cousin and brother, I'll let you rule the world?" Errol asked dryly. Florianne looked taken aback.

"Well… yes. I'm glad you catch on so quickly."

"You know he tells that to every one of his lackeys, right? You're not special. He'll probably kill you when he's tired of you."

Florianne bristled. "He would never abandon one of his faithful! He has a place for me."

"Yeah, under his boot," Varric muttered.

"I will be a Queen," she continued. "And when he's claimed this world he will move on to yours, little Inquisitor, taking what he wants, subduing your weak-willed people. They will be like chattel to our new God, and we the exalted will never have to lift a finger again."

"Man, lady, you have really got a boner for slavery if you need to invade another reality for it," Errol snapped. "Are you secretly Tevinter?"

"Subdue her but don't kill her," Florianne said with a wave of her hand. "The master needs to examine her if he's ever going to find a way to her world. Kill the rest." She smiled at Errol. "You'll be the only one of your Inquisition left to see our victory, and you'll see it bound and gagged. Won't that be fun? Ah, but I'm late. It's almost time for my dear cousin to meet her unfortunate end. We'll chat later." She turned and swept out.

"I am so gonna burn that bitch," Errol muttered, narrowly avoiding a slew of arrows as she threw up a barrier.

"We do need to address your preoccupation with burning things," Solas said, taking down the archers with Rift magic. Varric snorted as he aimed Bianca.

"Yeah, what he said. Maybe hold back the burninating this time."

"Did Dorian teach you that word?" she snapped, sending lightning sizzling onto a demon that had just appeared.

"I like it. Rolls off the tongue."

"Will you _please_ stop bantering and close the rift, my dear?" Vivienne asked as she expertly cast an ice spell. "I'm finding this fight tiresome and we don't want to arrive too late because you thought you were being funny."

Errol sighed and held up her palm. "Thanks for reminding me why I don't take you anywhere."

"You're welcome, dear. And don't forget to take the straps off of your dress. You can't reenter the court with your thighs showing like a common tavern wench."

* * *

The fights were over, and the night was saved. Errol had managed to finagle the best possible outcome - Florianne was in chains, Gaspard was going to be executed, and Celene and Briala were reunited as lovers. All in all, a good night and a lot of blood to be cleaned off of the tiles.

She sighed and put her head in her hands. It was crushingly hot inside, the nobles increasingly inebriated and rowdy as they celebrated the victory. She just wanted to go back to Skyhold and sleep for days, but she remembered that soon Morrigan would be there too, asking more questions and staring at her with her creepy golden eyes.

"I've been looking for you. What are you doing out here?"

Errol closed her eyes and relaxed as Cullen's arms wrapped around her. "Mmm, just getting some air. Tonight was ridiculous, on many levels."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm glad it's over. I know it's foolish but I was worried about you."

She laughed. "It wasn't foolish. It's just that we're in so many life-or-death situations it's become blasé. Oh, you stopped an Empress from being assassinated? Must be Thursday."

"Now you're starting to sound like Dorian."

She shuddered. "You're right, the sarcasm, it's catching."

The band inside began to play a waltz as the air around them turned from black to deep blue. "It's almost morning," he said softly. "The ball will be over when the sun rises."

"Hopefully we'll be in bed by then."

"Hopefully." He stepped away, taking her hand with him. "But while I have the chance, may I have this dance, my lady?"

She grinned. "Will we be stepping on each other's feet?"

"Most likely, though you did dance rather well with Florianne earlier if I recall."

"You're bound to be better than that." She let him take her in his arms as they swayed to the music. Above them, the stars began to wink out as the sky lightened.

"Are you very tired?" he asked, spinning her around.

"That depends on what you have in mind."

"I think I already mentioned it," he said, nuzzling his nose into the curls piled on top of her head, the ones that hadn't already spilled out during the night's activities.

"Something about you taking my dress off with your teeth?" she murmured.

"That sounds about right."

Errol smiled coyly. "I think I can muster the energy."

"Minx," he said as the song ended. He bowed and kissed her hand. "It's nearly light. If my lady is ready, I'll see her safely to her chambers."

She took his arm as they walked back inside. "Oh, your lady is _very_ ready, Commander."

It was a good night, all in all.


	23. Cracks in the Armor

_**AN: I should probably note that all unmentioned Companion quests do exist/are going on in the background, but if they aren't terribly changed from the canon I don't write them as no one wants to read a rehash of events simply for the sake of it, plus it would make this story about 100 chapters long.**_

* * *

**Chapter 22: Cracks in the Armor**

By the time they arrived back at Skyhold, things had already started going wrong.

Morrigan hadn't arrived yet. She had to stay behind and clean up a few loose ends at Halamshiral before she could begin making her way to Skyhold. No one seemed to know when that would be, leaving Errol feeling helpless and frustrated as news of Corypheus pulling up his troops began to filter in, though they had no way of knowing to where or why.

They had been back only a few days when Solas found her pacing the battlements. She turned, and he was just there, his hands behind his back, standing perfectly still, as if he had been there the whole time.

She stopped, her hand over her heart. "Jesus Andraste, Solas, you startled me!" His presence always made her nervous in ways she didn't want to investigate. There was still a lingering pull of attraction there, despite her very satisfying relationship with Cullen, and it unsettled her, especially when he looked at her in that irritatingly knowing way.

"I apologize. A word, Inquisitor?"

"Of… of course," she said, and he turned and started walking. After a moment's hesitation, she followed.

They hadn't spoken much since the ball; even on the trip back they'd been separated by the larger traveling party, and she'd spent most of the ride with her horse pulled next to Cullen's. After they'd returned he secluded himself in his room and she hadn't sought him out. It seemed best not to; she spent most of her free time in Cullen's bed anyway, and she knew he probably wasn't happy about that.

Instead of going to his rotunda he surprised her by turning and walking down to the dungeons, then down again. "Where are we going?" she asked, but he just opened another door to reveal a waterfall tumbling from a massive ledge underneath Skyhold.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, the roar almost too loud to hear over. She raised her voice. "Why down here?"

He closed the door and waved his hand, and the noise of the waterfall dampened considerably. "I wanted somewhere private… it is notoriously difficult to find privacy in Skyhold these days, isn't it?"

Errol winced at the dig. She was certain that due to Leliana's pranks all of Skyhold knew of her and Cullen's unsuccessful attempts at coupling from a few weeks back. She still wanted to plot revenge against the Nightingale, if she wasn't so certain Leliana could do terrible, terrible things to her in her sleep. "Oh, I… yeah. What did you want to talk about?"

"I'm merely curious about a few things," he said, in his deceptively level academic voice. "You visit so rarely these days, we haven't had a chance to speak about the events at Halamshiral."

"I've been… busy."

"Indeed you have." There was something to his tone that struck her as odd, but he continued. "So you reunited the two lovebirds to the benefit of all of Thedas. A brilliant tactical move. You were aware, however, that Celene murdered Briala's family?"

"I was. Leliana told me."

"And you still chose to reunite them."

"As you said, it was a tactical move. The rulers of Orlais are all horrible people who have played the Game for so long they have no souls left. This helps not only restore stability but it might help the elves gain some equality without needing Gaspard as a puppet ruler."

"That is an astoundingly analytical way to look at the situation for someone who once couldn't bear to take a single life and who valued honesty above all things. You have changed. I've yet to decide if it's for the better." That was a lie; he sounded pleased. He prowled around her, stopping just behind her shoulder. "I did enjoy your dress. You can tell why I couldn't say it at court, but it was rather stunning."

"Thank you," Errol said. She suddenly had a hard time swallowing. "You seem… on edge."

"I've been having trouble sleeping."

"Oh. Trouble in the Fade?"

"More like trouble getting there. I keep being awoken. Sometimes it's just at the back of my mind, like an itch I can't scratch. Sometimes it's… stronger." He pulled her collar down slightly, exposing her mark to the cool wet air. "You should take care to cover it more thoroughly when you're being bedded, Inquisitor. The more exposed it is, the more difficult to resist, and I don't appreciate being woken due to someone else's use of what is mine." His voice had grown very quiet and very cold.

Her eyes widened and she knew her cheeks were red. "You can feel that?"

"Quite strongly. You're lucky I spend most of my time alone. It would be difficult to explain in company." His fingers lightly traced the scar. "It is disappointing that you give the gift of yourself so easily to one who is so unworthy."

Okay, now she was just pissed. Errol spun around to face him, knocking his hand away. "A gift? A: Ew, and B: I wasn't a virgin! Not that that would even matter, you misogynist prick."

He took her insults without even blinking. "It's true you had tumbled with boys while you were still confined to a mortal body. Do you think that matters? I offer you total freedom, while he offers to put the bars on the cage you so willingly step back into." He shook his head, looking tired. "I find myself completely unable to understand the choices you make."

Errol pushed him on the chest. She knew it wasn't smart to poke the bear, but she was just so irritated by this game he was always playing. "And I find myself unable to understand why you won't just tell me things! Why does it matter to you so much! Are you immortal, because you speak as if you are. What is your plan, your end game, and how do I fit into it? You talk about freedom, but when I'm with you all I feel is that I'm being manipulated."

"There are certain truths you aren't ready for yet. I thought you trusted me."

"Would you trust someone so much you'd let them lead you over a cliff blindfolded? There's a difference between trusting someone and being stupid!"

He took her by the shoulders, as if he was going to shake sense into her. "And there's a difference between loving someone and simply being afraid to embrace the new! You were unhappy being human, Errol, I saw it in the Fade every night! You would take those shackles on again, for a man so broken he shakes with want of lyrium?"

She laughed scornfully. "And you have made no mistakes in your life."

"I have made many, most of which I plan to rectify soon."

"He feels the same."

His grip on her shoulders loosened but he didn't release her. "It matters not. Even if you choose him and live his life, you cannot become human again. It isn't possible, and he will die, eventually."

"And where will you be?"

"Waiting."

"Is that supposed to be comforting or threatening?"

He leaned forward, his breath on her lips. "Can't it be both?"

She didn't back away; she wanted to stand her ground. "Solas, whatever you think is going to—"

Her breath caught in her throat as his hand slipped under her collar to gently rest on the mark. She narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"An experiment," he said, very quietly, and then magic crackled outward from his palm. She dug her nails into her hands and whimpered, but didn't step away.

"I won't be intimidated by you," she said. He didn't move, just stood achingly close, letting the magic pour into the mark on her neck.

"Intimidated is not how I want you to feel at this moment," he said. "I am simply seeking a reaction."

"Obviously."

He smiled thinly and shifted so that he was speaking directly into her ear. "You misunderstand me. You wonder why I do not simply leave you be? The truth is you don't want me to. I can smell the desire on you when I'm near. I can hear your heart jump as we speak and it's not out of fear. You followed me like a lamb down here knowing what would happen. You want this as I do but you're afraid to jump. You're balancing on a fragile wire." The mark pulsed with magic, making her tremble, the soaking ache between her thighs almost unbearable. "How far do I have to push for it to break?"

She curled her fists tighter. She could beat this, she could _prove _to him, to herself—

"You're wrong. Attraction is not love, and I don't cheat."

"I am not wrong," he murmured, using his other hand to turn her face toward his, so that their lips were almost touching. "And you know it."

He was too close, the magic too strong, curling around her like a drug, breaking open the parts of herself that she kept carefully locked away because they were too dangerous. Her eyes fluttered closed. It would be so easy to just give in.

"Stop!"

Suddenly the magic was gone and he was torn away from her. Errol felt the spray of the waterfall on her face and the haziness lifted, replaced with shattering clarity. She looked up to see Cole standing between them, his hands out, yelling at Solas.

"I understand, you don't want to be alone anymore, you want someone by your side as you remake the world, but this isn't the way to do it!"

Errol narrowed her eyes, anger igniting like a fire. "Remake the world? What does that mean?"

Solas looked at her past Cole's shoulder. "You said yourself the world is broken. We all have plans for what comes next. I've told you many times before that you are vital to making this world better, but only if you make the right choices." He turned, then paused, his hand on the door. "I still have hope that you will, in the end."

He left. When the echo of his footsteps vanished she put a trembling hand to her flushed forehead. What the fuck had just happened? Was it her or was it him or—?

"It wasn't right, what he did. He brought up the desires you keep hidden, made them bigger, stronger, like his. He shouldn't. They're hidden for a reason."

She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but… "Cole, what is he thinking?"

"It's hard to hear, all buried under the ages, barriers upon barriers, but there's want, hot and hard and hopeful, pulsing through him like the mark pulses through you." Cole turned his huge, innocent eyes on her. "He wanted to take you here on the ground, at the ball behind a locked door where you would have had to be quiet as you came, hand hot on your mouth, bent over, dress bunched around your waist, warm, wet, wanting—"

"Ok, anything beyond that?" she asked, flushing.

"There's also in your chambers, in his room once everyone has left for the night, in the tents, the woods, the Fade, the gardens that night had they not come with their lamps ruining that one chance when you were begging—"

"Cole! Moving on!"

"They are thoughts! I'm more human but I still don't understand why they make you so uncomfortable! They make him uncomfortable too, especially when he can feel you and Cullen — the teacup shattering on the floor, hands gripping the desk, waves over him like a dark sea and he is drowning in pleasure not his own and he almost cries out your name— it feels good but he hates it, why?"

Errol sat down on a broken chunk of masonry and sighed. "You'll get it eventually. Just give it time. DON'T repeat to him or anyone else that we had this conversation."

"All right." He still looked confused.

"Anything else?"

"He's lonely."

Errol felt a pang of regret. "I know."

"He always felt he had to walk a path alone but now that's changed, he has hope that you can change that, you're not like the others, not like them but not like me either. You can be more. You can be like him."

"And what is he?"

"I… don't know. Old. He was more than he is, once, but not anymore. He wants to be that again."

Errol sighed. "I remember when the biggest decision I had to make was what to order for dinner."

"You don't want to go back to that," Cole said with certainty. Errol shook her head.

"No I don't. Maybe I'm a masochist."

"A little, I think. You do seem to like pain."

She laughed sadly and stood, putting an arm around him. "Come on, let's go upstairs and get food. Have you figured out what you like yet?"

"Not eggs," he said immediately. "They want to be baby chickens but they're not."

"Okay, no eggs. No chicken either, though, right?"

"It smells like people."

"Vegan it is, then."

He paused. "Errol, you know that if I… if I become too much like a person, I might eventually lose my powers. I might not always be able to make them forget."

She sighed and squeezed him. "That's okay. As long as you're happy, we'll work it out. Are you happy?"

"I think so. It's hard to tell."

"That's life."

"Life is… hard."

"Fuck yeah it is."

Cole tilted his head. "You want to go to her, but you're afraid. Don't be. She's... enthusiastic, but she can trusted. We can go now, if you like. She's alone."

Errol nodded. She didn't relish the idea, but it had to be done. She especially didn't relish the idea when Dagna was in front of her, cooing happily as she cut little bits off of Errol like they were candy while promising to be _very, very __careful _with them. Errol tried to calm Dagna with several careful, pointed threats, but when that didn't work she simply left, her hand, finger, thigh, arm, and neck bleeding from fine-tuned nicks.

All Errol knew at that moment was that she needed to get out of Skyhold for a little while to clear her head. Luckily, Iron Bull had a Qunari assignment he wanted her to accompany him on. She jumped at it, and they left the next morning, with just Cole and Dorian and a couple of mounts.

It didn't end well.

* * *

The barn was very quiet and smelled like horses. She liked the smell, even the manure. It reminded her of going to farms as a child. She pulled on her drink and waited for him to arrive. Any moment now.

Soon a figure appeared in the wide doorway, blocking out the moon for a moment. It sensed her presence and reached for its sword, but she just raised her hand and waved. The figure hesitated.

"My lady?"

Errol took a swig from the flask and settled herself more comfortably on the hay, her feet propped up like it was a scratchy hammock. "Blackwall, just the person I was looking for. Pull up a bale, settle down. I brought you your very own flask of something gross and alcoholic. Here. Drink with me."

He sat, tentatively, and took what she offered. "Are you… feeling well?"

"Me? I'm just fucking fine."

He uncapped the flask, sniffed it, and made a face. "This is swill."

"Yep."

He watched her for a moment. "It's just, you usually drink with Varric or Iron Bull or even with Sera. What brought you here?"

She turned to look at him. "The hay seemed comfortable," she deadpanned. He stared at her and she pointed at him. "There, that's why I'm here. You don't do stupid jokes. Everyone else jokes too much. You're serious. I like that."

"I joke!" he said, rather affronted. "You've heard me joke! I can joke!"

"On the field yeah, I've seen you loosen up, but here it's like Andraste herself is breathing down your neck," Errol said, taking a swig. "I mean, it's cool, we've all got issues, right? But I can't handle anyone trying to be funny right now."

He shifted uncomfortably on his bale of hay and took the tiniest sip of the terrible alcohol. "I'll help if I can, my lady. Is there anything you'd like me to not make a joke about?"

She was quiet for a moment, the fingers of her right hand idly pulling out pieces of hay and dropping them on the floor. "You heard about Iron Bull, yeah? The mission with him and the Qunari."

"Aye, I did. I know you saved the Charges from certain death."

"And let a ship full of Qunari burn for it."

"Is that what this is about? Are you back to puking on the field?" He shook his head. "After all of this time? You saved the Chargers. You did right by Iron Bull. You did what you could in a bad situation."

"No, it's not that," she said. "The thing is, that's not why I saved them. Friendship and whatnot. It's not the reason. It wasn't because I care about the Chargers." She exhaled, long and slow. "It's because I've taken a lot of time to read up on this world and its people. A lot of time. It was because, from a tactical standpoint, I know that the Qunari still want to invade Thedas at the end of the day. From a tactical standpoint, they're still the enemy, and any alliance they claim with us will be dead the moment the Qun tells them to invade. From a tactical fucking standpoint, it was better to let them burn to death. All of them. Screaming. Tactical. Fucking. Standpoint." She enunciated each of the words.

He was quiet.

"And I didn't puke," she continued. "In fact, I felt nothing. Maker, I've changed."

"Have you spoken to Cullen about this?" he asked tentatively, and she snorted.

"No. I can't burden him with every little crisis of identity. I burden him with enough already."

"Why me, then? It's no burden, my lady, but I am curious."

"The weight is heavy on your shoulders," she said dreamily, and he stiffened. "You hunch with it. But you keep fighting." She looked at him. "I want to know how you do it. How you can be pulled in so many different directions you feel like you're two different people, like you'll go mad with the pressure, but you keep going. How do you keep from losing yourself?"

He took a drink and it burned down his throat. "I think I lost myself a long time ago, to tell you the truth."

"Ah. Maybe that's the secret." She looked up at the dark beams crisscrossing overhead. "I want to comfort Iron Bull but I'm not sure how. I saved his friends but killed his people." She raised her flask to the ceiling. "Tactical fucking standpoint." She drank.

Blackwall was silent, turning his flask around in his battle-scarred hands. "War changes us," he finally said. "All we can continue to do is try to do good, be good, and not lose sight of what that means. No matter the motivation, you saved the Chargers and you did right by Iron Bull. You need to remember that."

"Thank you," Errol said softly. "I don't know if I've ever thanked you. For joining us. You've been through a lot yourself - after what we found at Adamant, losing so many Wardens." She looked at him, her gaze quiet and steady. "You never wavered, despite your loss. You're a good man."

Blackwall looked troubled. "Am I?" he asked softly.

She snorted. "As good as the rest of us are. Imperfect, grouchy, and in dire need of a beard trim, but good. We need every last person we can get if we want to beat Corypheus, and we need good people around if we're going to stare into that void and even hope to hold on to our humanity." She closed her eyes and settled into the hay. "I love this world dearly, Blackwall, but God and Maker, I am tired of lies and death."

Slowly her breathing evened out. Blackwall gently removed the flask from her limp fingers and covered her with a blanket. He watched her sleep for a while, guilt like a knife in his gut.

By morning he was gone.


	24. Hell Hath No Fury

**Chapter 23: Hell Hath No Fury**

By the time Errol reached the prison, she was in a full rage.

She had spent the journey to Val Royeaux wracking her brains, trying to come up with some reason why Blackwall would have left them, especially after her embarrassing display the night before he vanished. She had poured her heart out to the Grey Warden, one of the few people she trusted not to joke about it or use it as an excuse to hit on her, and he turned and walked out without a word, leaving her to wake up hungover in the hay to the face of one of Leliana's worried scouts.

But this… this was worse than she could have ever dreamed. He wasn't Blackwall— he wasn't even a Grey Warden. No wonder the false calling hadn't affected him. He had lied to her, just another liar like she was, another killer. He had killed a family. He sickened her. Yet they needed him. From a tactical standpoint, he was one of the best.

Errol pressed her fingertips to the hollows of her eyes. She wanted to be sick.

Cullen rubbed the back of her neck soothingly. "Are you sure you want to go in alone?"

"Yes," she said shortly. "Have everyone stay out here, please. There will be a lot of yelling."

"As you wish." She could tell by the twitch of his hand before it fell that he wanted to pull her close but couldn't with others around, so he just stepped back and let the guard open the door that led to the long line of mostly-empty cells.

Rainier was at the end of them, slumped and broken. He didn't lift his head as Errol's footsteps came closer and finally stopped just outside of his cell. "So now you know."

She took a deep breath in through her nose, then out through her mouth, trying to stay zen. "You…. sonofabitch," she said softly. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Haltingly, he started to speak. "I didn't take Blackwall's life. I traded his death. He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed. I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man. But a good man, the man _he _was, wouldn't have let another die in his place."

"Yeah, okay Jean Valjean, but don't you think that was something you could have told me AT SKYHOLD, AT ANY POINT OVER THE LAST TWO YEARS!" She surprised him when she screamed, grabbing the bars and shaking them. He looked up in shock.

"I… this is something I had to do. Didn't you hear? I'm responsible for the death of a family, of children. How could I have told you that?"

"You literally just did!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the walls. "You should have sat me down and said, 'Hey, Errol, I have something to tell you and you won't like it, but hear me out,' and I would have, and maybe I would have hated you but I wouldn't be here talking to one of my best fighters through iron bars in fucking Val Royeaux because he couldn't talk to me himself!"

"You would have heard me out? I could have talked you?" He stood and faced her, grabbing her hands where they curled around the bars. "Don't you understand? _I_ gave the order to kill Lord Callier, his entourage, and I lied to my men about what they were doing! When it came to light, I ran! Those men, my men, paid for my treason while I was pretending to be a better man. This is what I am. A murderer, a traitor, a monster." He released her and sank to his knees, but Errol grabbed him by his hair and forced him to look up at her.

"No. Shit," she hissed. "What you did was horrific. I'm appalled. I'll never look at you the same way again. Is that what you want me to say? It's true. But don't you think if anyone could have understood you it would have been me? How many people have I killed? Even in war it's still murder. What about the Dreadnought? What about Hawke?" She shook him by the hair and saw him wince. "How many times have you saved my life on the field? How many times have you taken a blow meant for me, or for Sera, or for Cole? How many times have you almost died? And you'd give up now, now when Corypheus is gathering the last of his forces, now when we need you the most? This isn't about you saving anyone. This is about you being weak." She let go of his hair and he fell back.

He immediately stood and called after her retreating figure. "I had to do this. I couldn't let him die for me."

She spun around and got in his face, gripping the front of his coat through the bars. He let her manhandle him, his eyes wide as she spat out her words in a torrent. "No, if you wanted him saved you should have come to me, you shit! We're fighting a war and you're one of our best and you throw that away because of your feelings? We could have freed your friend and spared your life and you could have killed yourself after the battle. You'd rot while Corypheus took over the world? Coward." She looked at him with a mixture of heartbreak and contempt. "You were the first one who told me sometimes we need to do what needs to be done, and if that means doing the hard thing, which in this case would be sacrificing your fucking pride and pity party and coming to me, then you should have done that."

She dropped his coat and backed away, shaking her head like she couldn't stand the sight of him. "Now I have to save your sorry ass because we need every fighter we can get and you're a damn good fighter. You can die on the field for all I care but you won't die here."

With that Errol turned on her heel and marched away, her hands trembling. When she emerged back into the main room she looked at Cullen and simply said: "Get him back to Skyhold however you have to. We're leaving. Now." He nodded and went to speak with a few of his men while Errol walked outside. It was a struggle not to run; the walls felt like they were closing in on her. The rain had stopped, the sun gentle and warm, and only when the breeze blew chill on her face did she feel like she could breathe again.

Cullen's light touch on her arm made her jump. "It will be done," he said in a soft voice, as if trying not to spook her. "And there are ample accommodations in Val Royeaux if you would like to rest before beginning the journey back to Skyhold."

"No," Errol said. "Tell the men to purchase supplies if we need them. There's enough daylight to get well outside the city before dark. We'll camp tonight."

Cullen looked at her, worry creasing his brow. He reached over and cradled her head in one gloved hand, his thumb resting just at her temple. "This has clearly taken a toll on you," he said gently. "Surely some rest..."

She touched his cheek and let him feel, for one brief moment, the tremor that shook her hands. "If I spend one more minute in this blighted city I'll go mad," she said, surprised at how easily the once-foreign curse spilled from her lips. Her head was filled with the sound of her own heartbeat, like a rushing river of blood. He nodded in pained understanding and stepped away.

"We'll leave immediately."

Errol felt the knot between her should blades loosen with each step she took toward the stables. The anger still lingered, though, as did the sadness. There were still wrongs to be righted. She was tired of feeling like cracked armor, like the right blade could slip past her defenses and shatter her at any moment. It was time to stop being weak.

Errol swung her leg up on her horse and aimed him toward Skyhold. She knew just where to start.

* * *

Solas was pacing and paging contemplatively through a book when she appeared in his doorway. He felt her long before that, due to the buzz of her unique spirit magic and his marks, both of them, the inadvertent one and the purposeful one. She was easy to locate; he felt her ride through the gates of Skyhold and go to the stables, then move with quick, hurried steps straight to him, her riding gear still on.

He didn't expect the mood she'd be in.

"You!" she said in a voice loud enough it disturbed the ravens far above, theirs rustlings and caws echoing through the chamber. Solas turned, the book in his hands, a mild expression on his face, to see Errol pointing at him, legs spread like she was about to attack.

"Inquisitor? Is something the matter?"

She marched to him, her finger still up. "I just got back from having to free Blackwall for being a colossal dumbass, and I had a lot of time to think on the way back. I am tired of being jerked around. So I'm only going to say this once. Stop. It."

He put the book down and gently pushed her finger aside. He figured in her current mood that she wouldn't appreciate it if he did what he really wanted to do, which was take that irritating, tempting digit and slide it into his mouth before moving on to her damnably full bottom lip. "Stop what, exactly?"

She didn't lower her voice. "Stop what you've been doing. Oh, I'll shout it for the whole tower to hear. I'm done, do you hear me? I won't be pushed around, intimidated, or swayed by magic. You either sit me down and tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth, or you leave me the fuck alone. I am tired of games and I am tired of half-truths and this twisted _whatever_ you think is happening between us."

Solas considered her carefully, his hands behind his back. "Or?"

She leaned forward and lowered her voice, her eyes narrowed. "Or I'll make sure you have some very embarrassing moments in front of everyone at Skyhold right when you least expect it."

He flushed, his eyes unconsciously flickering to the concealed mark on her neck. "That's— you wouldn't."

"Oh, I would. So either learn to communicate like a grown up or Back. Off. I won't say it again." She spun around and marched out.

Solas sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to ignore Dorian's mocking applause echoing from the next level. She was right; he had come on too strong in his efforts to draw her away from Cullen. It was a pity her anger aroused the Wolf in him. It rumbled in the back of his head, urging him to follow her and take what was his. He felt her move with purpose through the main hall, but instead of turning left to her chambers, where it would be so easy to follow, she turned right and vanished into the Undercroft, where he could no longer sense her, her magic muddled by all of the enchantments Dagna had strewn about the place.

He shook the thought away. He knew what had to happen. It would all play out to his advantage no matter what. He would just have to be patient. He would leave her be, for now.

* * *

When Errol was done being fitted by Dagna she replaced her top, new heat sinking into her bones, the padded cords around her neck and arm chafing no matter how much the dwarf promised she'd get used to it. Errol thanked her and tried to appear calm but she was shaking. Too much, too much stress, too much exhaustion, too much everything. She emerged from the Undercroft and stopped by her room only long enough to drop off her riding gear, then went straight to Cullen's office. He was still in his armor, dirt spattered across his legs from the ride, debriefing a group of scouts. Everyone looked up when she entered.

"Out," she said, pointing to the open door. The scouts hesitated, flickering their gazes between her and the Commander. Her voice hardened and against her will the green of her palm flared, reacting to her emotional state. "Do I have to say it again?"

"No, Inquisitor," the scouts mumbled, hands over their hearts, and they rushed out. Errol closed the door behind her.

"Maker's breath, Errol, what was that about?" Cullen asked, sounding torn between annoyed and worried. He approached her and noticed her shoulders trembling. "Are you— are you all right?"

She turned into him and he wrapped his arms around her. She didn't cry, just laid her head on his breastplate, wishing she could hear his heart beating.

He rested his cheek on top of her head. "Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me about it." He hesitated. "Is this about Black— Rainier?"

She shook her head and burrowed deeper into him, breathing in his familiar scent. "Later," she said. "Later. I just…" Her throat closed up. "I've been so angry, for so long, I feel like everyone is _lying_ to me, I had to just… have something solid." She clutched at his fur mantle. "Please, if you have any secrets, tell me now."

He tightened his arms around her. "No secrets," he said throatily. "I've told you all of my sins."

Errol felt herself shaking again, her legs weak, all of the pain and rage that had sustained her leaking out of her body. She tipped her head up and kissed him, fiercely, one hand in his hair, dragging him down to her. "Don't you run off on me," she breathed between kisses. "Don't you lie to me, don't you die on me."

"I will not," he promised, pressing his forehead to hers. "I will never leave you."

"You know what I am. I can't… I can't give you everything. If we can't… _fix _me, I might not be able to give you a normal life."

Cullen took her chin in his hand and lifted it so that she was looking directly in his eyes. "_The Void take_ a normal life," he growled. "I have never had one. Whether you become fully human or not, you are perfect. You do not need to be fixed. Whatever comes, we face it together."

Errol nodded, but the pressure wouldn't release from her chest. "I feel like I'm drowning," she confessed. "It's hard to breathe." She wasn't lying; it was like a great hand was on her ribs, forcing the air from her lungs.

Cullen kissed her forehead. "You're having a panic attack."

She tried to laugh weakly. "Usually I just throw up."

"That's shock. This is the buildup of months of pressure." He turned her and guided her to the ladder. "Go upstairs and take off your clothes and sit on the bed. Concentrate on your breathing. I'll be up in a moment." His voice was calm but authoritative. At her look he gave her a gentle half smile. "This is nothing untoward, I promise you, but you need to relax before you're overwhelmed. Please, Errol."

She nodded and wearily moved to the ladder, wishing more than anything that it was just a staircase like a normal person would have. Once upstairs, she stripped and sat cross-legged on the middle of the bed, the warm daylight filtering in through the hole in the roof. Below, she heard Cullen lock the doors and shift a few items around before following.

A moment later he was beside her again, pressing a cool glass of water into her hand. "Drink slowly," he instructed. "And remember what I said about your breathing. Count your breaths. Don't let them be too shallow or too deep, or you'll hyperventilate."

Errol closed her eyes and followed his instructions, sipping the water as she did so. It felt wonderful against her parched throat, and she realized belatedly that both of them were still dirty from their travels. She heard the familiar clunks as Cullen removed his armor and boots and placed them on the floor. After a few minutes, he gently plucked the cup from her grasp and placed it on the nightstand.

The bed shifted under his weight. Errol felt him settle in behind her, still in his trousers and light shirt, his legs around hers. His left hand lightly brushed the crux of her neck and shoulder.

"What's this?"

"Oh, it's…" Errol paused, touching the supple scales that were held in place via cords looped around her neck and under her arm. Now that it was on, she hadn't wanted take it off. "It's dragonling scales, chock full of enchantments. Dagna made it for me. I had to let her cut little pieces of me off first for research but that was only kinda creepy. Cole's watching her, I'm safe. I think she'll be more excited than scared of anything else she finds."

He traced the crimson scales. "Are they always warm?"

"Yeah, kind of weird but nice. Very fire resistant so a little like armor."

"You never did explain what that mark is except that it's magic and it protects you. And that I shouldn't touch it. Or bite it. Even though it feels quite good for both of us when I do."

Errol shifted, uncomfortable. "Honestly? I don't know much more than that. It's dangerous and something I probably shouldn't have accepted but I did because it was a choice between this or the risk of being bound by blood magic. But now that I have it I figured the least I could do would be to get Dagna to... tamp down its magic a bit. I can't say more. And you have to be okay with that." He didn't say anything. "Are you okay with that?"

Cullen leaned down and kissed her other shoulder, the unmarked one. "How can I not be? You are doing everything in your power to keep yourself safe in your… unique situation. I cannot fault you for that." He rested his hands at the cords. "Do you mind if I remove it, for the moment?"

Errol hesitated, then lifted her left arm and allowed him to slide the loop over it, and tilted her head so he could remove the other cord. He put the tiny armor on the bed and then gently placed his hands around her waist and lifted her back so she was sitting in his lap.

"What are you—" Errol started, but trailed off as he swept her hair to the side and she felt his hands, slick with some kind of warm oil, begin to massage her neck, as always staying away from the bite mark, which seemed to almost pulse angrily now that the armor was removed.

"Just focus on your breathing," he said softly into her ear as he moved slowly down, his thumbs finding trigger points in her trapezius and working them over with steady pressure, the muscle slipping angrily underneath. "Relax. This might hurt a bit. If it's too much just let me know."

"Okay," Errol murmured, the ghost of a whisper. Cullen used one hand to press her shoulder down while his other hand massaged, her bones shifting and popping. She winced, trying to breathe steadily even as the heel of his hand dragged down the rock-hard muscle.

He worked deep into her tissue, moving back up her neck and over her shoulders, focusing on where her muscles slipped beneath the skin, digging and pushing until the slip broke and the muscles released. With each release Errol let out a stuttering breath, until she realized she was crying, tears dripping down her face. When he guided her to sprawl stomach down on the bed she let him, and he worked diligently on her back, using the weight of his body until her spine cracked, the painful release sending a rush of endorphins to her head. He moved down her arms to her hands, massaging each of the ligaments in her fingers, then down her legs to her feet, rotating her ankles and digging his thumbs into her sore arches until she gasped. It was beautifully asexual and without expectation. Errol felt boneless, weightless, and she couldn't stop crying, the weight lifting from her body as he tenderly cared for her.

Finally, she felt a blanket drape over her prone form and lips glide across her forehead. "Sleep," he said softly. "We'll leave tomorrow."

"Leave?" Errol murmured, half asleep already.

"Just for a day or two. Is that all right?"

"Wonderful. This place is a prison."

Cullen stroked her hair. "I'll arrange it now." He paused, his hand lingering on her cheek. "Errol, I—"

Errol thought he might have said something else, but the pull of sleep was too strong, and she was swept into the Fade, the tears on her face finally drying.


	25. Luck

_**AN: Hi all, another day, another chapter cut short due to smut. Remember, if you want to reach my AO3 account via the link in my profile, first you click the link, then it'll likely say "Oops, we can't find that page on ff . net! But the site will still be there at the bottom, just copy starting at the "archiveofourown" all the way thru the end and paste into the address bar. Or alternately, just search Unstoppablei on Archive of our Own and you'll find this story. This darn website does like to make it difficult to leave, amiright? So frustrating.**_

_**Now that I want to bang my head against a wall, let's move on with the story!**_

* * *

**Chapter 24: Luck**

"Is it really okay for us to just be… taking off like this?"

They were riding side by side down one of the winding paths that led out of the Frostback mountains, just the two of them. Errol was sure that Leliana's scouts were hidden in the woods, but she couldn't spot them. She liked it, this air of anonymity. Maybe at some point they'd actually be able to slip away and be truly alone.

"Technically? I'm not sure I should answer that question," Cullen said, and smiled that half-smile at her that made her heart flutter like a teenager with a crush. He was dressed in light armor and a cloak that could almost pass as normal clothing if one didn't look too closely, his breastplate and mantle gone, sword still at his side. "But with Corypheus' forces vanished, we are helpless to do little more than wait for news or until Morrigan's arrival. Leliana was not happy, but considering you do enough traipsing about the countryside closing rifts, I was able to convince her this one small side trip was warranted."

"Traipsing? That's what I do?" she asked, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I didn't mean—"

Errol stopped him by laughing. "You're very easy to fluster."

He blushed. "And you take far too much advantage of that fact."

"I like to see you blush." She canted her horse towards his so that they were nearly touching and lowered her voice. "So bashful in the light of day, and yet in bed you command me as forcefully as you do your troops."

He raised an eyebrow at her, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. "You don't seem to have any objections."

"No no, just remarking on the dichotomy. You're a very interesting person, you know. I rather like you."

"Rather like…" Cullen said disbelievingly. "Yes, well, I _rather like_ you too. One might even say I'm _fond_."

"Oooo, fond, now you're getting saucy."

He merely shook his head, refusing to rise to her bait. Errol bit her lip to hide her grin. "So where are we going, anyway? Are you allowed to tell me or is it a secret?"

"To a small town by Honnleath, near where I grew up," he said. "It's not much, but it's quiet. We shouldn't be bothered there, and the hills are quite lovely."

"Sounds perfect," Errol said, tipping her head back to take in the sun as it broke through the clouds. "Baby Cullen. Now that's something I wish I could have seen."

"You don't. I was too cocky for my own good and thought I knew everything."

"I think that's called being a kid."

He laughed quietly. "I suppose you're right. Still, I was so eager to join the templars, to prove myself a man. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn't." He sounded wistful, but conflicted.

Errol touched his arm. "You can't change the past, Cullen. And no matter what happened then, you wouldn't be here now, with me."

He looked at her and his eyes softened. "No, I wouldn't," he said. "And I wouldn't change that for anything."

Words bubbled up inside of her but she swallowed them down until they were just a rattling ache in her lungs. "Should we move a little faster? I think the horses are restless."

* * *

It was many long hours before they tied their horses to a tree and he led her down a winding path to a quiet, isolated dock. It was a cloudy day, cool but not cold, and the water that swirled beneath their feet was clear and spotted with water lilies. It was absolutely silent except for the shuffle of water against wood and wind, and the air smelled like sweet grass.

"It's beautiful," Errol said in a hushed voice. "Where are we?"

"Honnleath is just a few miles away," he said, looking around fondly. "This place was always quiet."

"We're safe, right?"

He raised his eyebrows. "As we can be, yes. This area has remained relatively untouched by the fighting."

Errol grinned. "Good." She tugged his hand down until they were both sitting, and started working on the clasps of her boots. "Did you come here often?"

He watched her pull her first boot off out of the corner of his eye. "I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head. Of course, they always found me eventually."

Her other boot came off. She balled her socks up inside of them and set them aside, then rolled her pants up and dipped her feet in the cool water. "You were happy here."

Cullen settled against the post and turned his full attention on her as she swirled her feet around. "I was. I still am."

"The water feels great," she said, then nudged him. "You should try it."

"I…" he started. "I'm not sure it's—"

"Appropriate?" Errol asked, raising her eyebrows. She raised her feet out of the water and wiggled her toes. "You do have the strangest ideas about what's appropriate. Live a little."

Cullen sighed, then tugged off his boots and socks and pushed up his trousers. He hissed slightly as his feet came into contact with the water. "It's cold!"

"Did you ever swim in it, as a child?"

His eyes widened. "You're not suggesting—"

Errol laughed and shook her head. "It's just a question."

"Ah," he said, and relaxed. "Yes, in the summer. It was my own private place." He shifted so that he was now leaning against her, their toes touching. "This is quite nice."

"Master of the understatement, my Cullen," Errol said, sighing happily and resting her head on his shoulder. "You do know that you make me very happy, right? It's like the rest of the world is this swirling void of madness, but with you it's perfect calm, and I feel like I can breathe again."

"I know exactly what you mean," he said. "For many years my life was nothing but darkness and chaos, chains I could not break. You're the first thing that's made sense to me in a long time." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I packed a picnic, you know, and we have a room waiting for us at the inn. It's not much of a respite, but it's the best we can do at the moment. Perhaps when the war is over…"

Errol snuggled closer to him and laced her fingers in his. "Thank you for bringing me here," she said, breathing in the cool, fresh air. "I needed this. Skyhold… sometimes I wish we could just make a break for it, head for the hills, never to be seen again. But, since we can't do that, a picnic is great."

He was quiet for a moment, staring out at the lake and thumbing something in his free hand. "The last time I was here was the day I left for templar training," he said contemplatively. "My brother gave me this."

Errol looked down to see a coin in his palm. It was worn, the face on the front nearly smooth, as if it had been carried in a pocket and worried over by restless fingers for many years.

"It just happened to be in his pocket but he said it was for luck," Cullen continued, tilting it slightly so that it caught the light. "Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through."

"What a rule breaker," Errol teased, bumping his shoulder carefully so as not to disturb the coin.

"Until several years ago I was very good at following rules," he said ruefully. "Most of the time. This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the templars didn't give me." He looked at it for a long moment, then turned over her palm and pressed the coin into it. "Humor me."

Errol's fingers instinctively curled around the weathered coin. "Cullen—"

"You don't know what you'll face before the end," he said, his voice suddenly, heartbreakingly earnest. "This can't hurt."

This would be the perfect time. It should be easy to say, after all they'd been through. Just three little words. Errol felt them on her lips like a warm breeze. _I love you._ She felt them behind her teeth, struggling to get by. _I love you_. _I love you. I love you, please say you love me too._

She pressed the coin to her heart and said, "Cullen, I— I'll keep it safe."

"Good," he said, drawing her in for a kiss, their wet feet tangled together. "I know it's foolish, but I'm glad."

He kissed her sweetly, and Errol kissed him back, letting her tongue say all of the things she was too afraid to.

When they broke apart he nuzzled her gently, his forehead pressed against hers. "Come," he said in a throaty voice. "We have a picnic, and you— you must be famished. Then there is the inn, and—" He broke off and dragged his teeth along the delicate skin just underneath her jaw, where her pulse jumped eagerly.

"Y—yes," Errol stuttered, blushing as he smirked and stood, holding out his hand to her.

_Later_, she thought. _Later I__'__ll be brave enough to tell him._

* * *

Errol woke to him thrashing in his sleep, his brow furrowed and beaded with sweat. "No," he breathed, his fists clenching and unclenching, his whole body taut as if to strike. "No, stay away, it's not real, it's not—"

"Cullen," Errol said, shaking him, but he didn't seem to feel her. She shook him harder. "Cullen, love, wake up!"

He opened his eyes with a gasp and half sat up. For one long moment he stared at her like he didn't know who she was, then his vision cleared and he relaxed, sinking back onto the bedsheets.

"Another nightmare," Errol said sympathetically, wiping sweat-slicked hair away from his forehead. Cullen nodded as he tried to control his breathing.

"A particularly bad one. I'm sorry for waking you."

"Don't apologize. I'm just glad I was here to snap you out of it."

He looked at her, one hand coming up to trace the curve of her face. "I should be used to it by now." He paused. "Wait, was I still dreaming or did you just call me 'love'?"

Errol was suddenly fascinated by the threads in the sheets. "Oh, well, I…" She stared hard at the dresser beyond him. "Is this really the best time to be having this— I mean— I—"

"Errol," he said, sifting his fingers through her hair to gently turn her face back toward his. His eyes were hopeful. "Can you— I mean, do you—"

She tried biting her lip but the words tumbled out anyway, unbidden. "I love you," she said, almost babbling. "I know you just had a nightmare and it's not the most romantic time to say it or anything but you _asked_ and I—"

Cullen pulled her head down at the same time that he leaned up, wrapping his free arm around her as he kissed her with a need that took her breath away. "I love you," he said when they broke apart, resting his forehead on hers, his breath ragged. "I have for so long. I should have told you every day since the moment I met you."

"The moment?" she said, quirking her eyebrow upward. He laughed softly.

"Well, maybe not the moment, but soon after, I assure you."

Errol nuzzled against him, breathing him in. He still smelled like sweat, the usually pleasant scent tinged with fear. She ran a calming hand down his side. "So… maybe this isn't the best time…"

"Maybe not the best thing to say after you just declared your love for me," he said. Errol smacked him lightly on the ass.

"Cheeky. But I'm serious. These nightmares—"

Cullen groaned and buried his head in her neck, nipping at her, his hands wandering. "Can't we forget about them and move on to more… pleasant diversions, my love?"

Errol tried to ignore the thrill his words and hands were igniting in her. "Mmmm, Cullen, I'm serious."

"So am I," he murmured, his teeth worrying her earlobe as his fingers found her nipple. "And quite awake now, too."

"I think—" Errol squirmed, the gathering heat between her thighs quickly robbing her of coherent thought. "I think I might be able to stop them."

"Hmm?" he asked, raising his head to look at her, his eyes foggy. "Stop what?"

"The nightmares."

He pulled away slightly, the crease returning to his eyebrows. "That's not— how, exactly, would you intend to do that?"

Errol took a deep breath. "You know that Solas and I trained extensively in the Fade, every night for months—"

Cullen rolled on his back and closed his eyes. "And thank you for bringing _that_ name into our bedroom."

She plowed on. "I know you experience terrible things in the Fade, but I know my way around it very, very well. I could create a safe place for you, for us, to guide you away from the nightmares."

Cullen opened his eyes and looked at her seriously. "Errol, I know that you mean well, but how could I trust anything in the Fade? How could I ever trust it was even you and not a demon? I would prefer the nightmares to a false dream that could strip me of my mind."

"I'd teach you how to learn what is real and not, and give you a way out, a way to wake up whenever you want, whenever you feel uneasy. And I know of a foolproof way to prove whether or not you're in the Fade. Anything you need to make you comfortable, I'll do."

He rubbed his chin. "I don't know, it's all so— I've always been taught, I've always _known, _not to trust the Fade."

"You've also known not to trust spirits and you're in love with one," she said, trying to sound teasing. He sighed and ran his fingers through her hair.

"I suppose if anyone could protect me in the Fade it's you," he said. "And it would be a blessing to sleep peacefully for once."

"Good," Errol said, settling in beside him, her head cradled in the nook between his shoulder and chest, her arm across his stomach. "Now close your eyes and relax. I'll guide you back into sleep."

"Now?" he asked, sounding almost petulant.

"It is the middle of the night," she reminded him, sounding sleepy. "You need your rest. We'll talk more in the Fade."

"But—"

"Sleep, my love," she murmured, nestling against him. "I'm here."

Cullen grumbled a bit more, something too low for her to hear, then finally gave up, curling his arms around her and letting his body relax muscle by muscle. When his breath started to even out Errol tentatively reached with her magic and pulled him under with her, guiding his consciousness to wherever it felt safest, and they both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Cullen opens his eyes and blinks, the soft daylight filtering in through the ceiling and washing over his body. It is warm and carries with it the scent of the mountain air and the faint sound of birdsong.

He knows it's not real though - after all of these years he can tell when he's dreaming. Something is always off, a little warped, tinged green at the edges, the angles not quite ninety degrees, the air too still. He steels himself. This is usually the part where it turns horrible, blood running down the walls, screams ripped from throats, explosions, violence, death.

"Really? Your room above your office?"

She's there next to him, in the same position they fell asleep in. He blinks. "You're—this— is it really you?" he asks cautiously.

Errol takes his hand. She feels real enough. "This is your safe space," she says. "Nothing bad can happen to you here. You can wake at any time if you don't trust me. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

He lets out a long breath, then frowns. "What's wrong with my room?"

Errol laughs and rests her head on her fist, facing him. She's still naked and it's distracting. "You could have chosen anywhere - a forest glen, a palace, a peaceful waterfall, hell my room is nicer. You even kept the huge hole in the roof."

"I like the hole. It lets in the fresh air," he complains. She snorts.

"And the snow, and the rain—"

He leans in and kisses her, lightning fast. "You're definitely still you," he says, allowing his body to relax. "So… no nightmares?"

"No nightmares," she says. "Even if I'm not here, think of this place, or, once we create other safe places, think of those, and you'll be there. The nightmares and demons can't reach you in the places I've carved out."

"Thank the Maker," he breathes. "I haven't slept a full night in ten years."

"I know," she says, smoothing his brow with her thumb. "I'm sorry, I should have brought this up sooner—"

He catches her hand and kisses her palm. "Love, I wouldn't have accepted your help sooner. I distrusted all things to do with the Fade. I wouldn't have accepted anyone's help."

"Why now?" she murmurs, and he tugs on her hand so that she topples over with a squeal, landing on top of him.

"You know why," he says throatily, his lips grazing hers. "Because I love you, more than I've ever loved anything, and I trust you completely."

"Hmm, that's a lot to live up to," she says, smiling against his mouth. "I'll have to keep being really good." She rolls off of him, deftly avoiding his hands. "And for now that means no sex in the Fade. Until you come to recognize the signs of this safe space, the rules, _me_, I don't need you having any doubts that I might be a desire demon."

In a moment she has clothes on again, a simple set of pajamas. So does he. He sighs. "You're right. I show my own weakness."

"It's not weak to want to—" She waggles her eyebrows with innuendo—"with the woman you love. We'll get to it. Just not now. Wait until morning. Now. Check this out."

She holds up something. "Do you know what this is?"

He frowns at her and swings his legs off the side of the bed. "A spinning top? It's a child's toy."

"It's a trick I learned from a story in my world, and I realized it has applications in the Fade." She puts the toy down on the wooden floor and spins it. Cullen watches it, and realizes after a long moment that it doesn't wobble, and doesn't stop spinning, just moves with perfect precision on and on forever.

"Keep one with you at all times," Errol says. "If you're ever afraid you're in the Fade, if you're ever not sure what is real, use this. If it topples, you're in reality. If not, you're in the Fade."

"That's incredible," he says, his eyes still on the perpetually spinning top. "No one has ever mentioned anything like this. Your world doesn't even have a Fade, how is this a story?"

Errol shrugs. "It's a story about dreamers, and we're imaginative. I thought of it once and decided to try it out. Blackwall carved it for me, before…"

She scoops up the top and hands it to him. "I'll give you the real one when we wake up. What would you like to do now?"

He rolls the small wooden piece over in his hands. "Play chess?" he says. "I still don't trust the Fade enough to do much more than be calm and still in it. For the moment, we could talk, and it would allow me to… clear my head until morning comes."

Errol pulls a chess board from under the bed and places it on the mattress. "I'm getting better, you know," she says, sitting cross-legged across from him.

He smiles, and feels lighter than he has in a long time. "You're really, really not."

* * *

The return journey was relaxing, despite the many hours on horseback. Errol and Cullen kept their mounts close, and conversation flowed easily, as if the last of their barriers had fallen away now that they'd finally said what they'd been holding back for so long. However, when they stepped over Skyhold's threshold they were met with a flurry of activity and a sense of impending dread that pushed all other thoughts aside.

Morrigan had arrived.


	26. Mirrors and Mirrored

**Chapter 25: Mirrors and Mirrored**

"This is an Eluvian."

Errol looked at it, then back at Morrigan. "So you took so long because you were transporting a giant… mirror," she said flatly.

Morrigan twisted her mouth. "It's not just a mirror. It's an elven artifact, from a time long before their empire was lost to human greed."

"Oh." Errol felt stupid. "Neat."

"Indeed." Morrigan had a way of making her feel very small with the simplest of words or gestures. "I restored this one at great cost, but another lies within the Arbor Wilds, in an untouched elven temple. That is what Corypheus seeks."

Tentatively, Errol reached out and touched the shimmering glass. It felt like cool mercury against her fingertips, like she should be able to push through it.

"It… should not be doing that," Morrigan said, sounding slightly alarmed. Errol withdrew her hand. "What did you do?"

"I don't know," Errol said, cursing inwardly. Of course some ancient elf-thing would react differently to a spirit. She tried to divert. "Can you show me what it's supposed to do?"

Morrigan frowned at her for a moment more, then abruptly turned and swept her arms upward. The glass cracked and shattered, and Errol flinched, but it simply turned to mist. In fact, once Errol lowered her arm from in front of her face, she saw that the interior of the mirror was all mist, moving in warm wet swirls across her skin.

"The more appropriate question is, where does it lead?" Morrigan said, a bit smugly. With that, she stepped through the mirror. After a brief hesitation, Errol followed.

It was almost like stepping into a warm bath. The moisture was rejuvenating, the air clean and extra oxygenated. Errol tipped her face up, smiling. "It feels wonderful in here," she purred. Around her were ancient trees, if they could be called that, branches curled into perfect circles, and hundreds, maybe thousands of mirrors, each with their own statues marking them. "What is this place?"

"If it once had a name, it has long been lost. I call it the Crossroads," Morrigan said, her voice hushed. She stared at Errol, her golden eyes catching everything. "Do you truly feel well here, Inquisitor? Most humans find themselves ill within moments of stepping through an Eluvian. It was built for the elves, after all, and does not often take kindly to other races using its pathways. It's safe enough, though there is some resistance. You, however… are flourishing. I wonder, is it perhaps the Anchor?"

"That… must be it," Errol said, looking at her hand so she wouldn't have to meet Morrigan's hawkish gaze.

"I suppose it must…" Morrigan said, though she sounded skeptical. "Or perhaps your being from another world has marked you in its own way. 'Tis a mystery."

Errol inspected a shattered Eluvian and changed the subject again. "Why do you call it the Crossroads? Do all Eluvians lead here?"

"Yes. No matter where they might be, they join here. The ancient elves left no roads, only ruins hidden in far flung corners. This is how they traveled between them. As you can see, most of the mirrors are dark: broken, corrupted, or unusable. As for the rest, a few can be opened from this side, but only a few."

"This is incredible. How did you ever find this place?"

"My travels have led me to many strange destinations. Once they led me here. It offered my son and me sanctuary."

Errol looked up from investigating a crumbling statue. "Wait, you have a kid?"

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Is that such a shock to you? I am a woman, after all. These things do happen."

"No, I just…" Errol floundered, then offered weakly. "You look great."

Morrigan laughed, a rich, almost wicked sound. "Not the response I was expecting, but a pleasant one nonetheless. Yes, I have a son, Kieran. I meant to bring him with me to Skyhold but certain… considerations prompted me to leave him somewhere else. He is safe without me, for now."

"Considerations?"

The witch regarded her. "You being one of them. You come from another world, wielding strange magics and stranger secrets… I felt it best to keep him out of the fray, for the moment."

Errol bit her lip to keep from frowning. Morrigan felt she had to keep her kid safe from _her_? It sounded ridiculous, until Errol mentally ticked off her many lies and oddities in her head. _Came here through the Breach from Earth, Anchor on my hand, spirit, crazy Solas neck mark, might turn into a demon someday… maybe not terribly kid friendly. _She took a deep breath and again shifted the tide of the conversation. "What kind of sanctuary can these Eluvians hold?"

"Not all the mirrors lead back to my world."

Errol's breath hitched. "Wait, what? Is it possible that there is an Eluvian that might lead to my world?"

Morrigan considered it. "Anything is possible."

Errol's excitement deflated. "Oh, but… my world doesn't have any magic."

Morrigan made a noise that was almost a laugh. "All words have magic. Some worlds just have precious little of it. It leaks in at the edges, at the thin spaces where light bleeds color."

Errol let out a long, low breath. "The Northern Lights," she murmured. "Of course."

"I do not know if a viable Eluvian to your world exists, or if it ever existed," Morrigan said. "But if we can stop Corypheus from obtaining the one in the Arbor Wilds and entering the Fade, I will certainly attempt a search, if that is what you wish."

"Thank you," Errol said. "It would mean the world to me."

"Let us move quickly then," Morrigan said, gesturing to the open Eluvian that would lead them back to Skyhold. "It is a game of speed now, one which we must win if we have any hope of saving either of our worlds. The Arbor Wilds await."

* * *

The Temple of Mythal was vast and terrible; it inspired awe even as the jungle fought to reclaim it, lush green forest tumbling through cracks in the rocks and snaking over statues like ropes, tugging an empire back to the earth.

Solas was oddly quiet as they walked. At first Errol thought that their near escape from Corypheus, and the sight of the monster jumping into a new body, had shaken him, but as Morrigan talked on and on about ancient elven myths she knew that couldn't be the case. Solas should be taking charge here, in this place - he loved to show off his knowledge, especially in front of someone like Morrigan, who he clearly considered an uncultured upstart. Errol saw him roll his eyes a few times and sigh, but he rarely jumped in to correct her, which was strange. Normally she couldn't keep him from stating his views, even when she wanted to.

She purposely fell behind the others, pretending to inspect a statue of a wolf. "What's up?" she asked in a quiet voice, lightly touching his elbow. "You're quiet."

"Perhaps this place is deserving of our respect, and thus we should not chatter so." She gave him a look and he sighed. "I don't trust Morrigan. I prefer to observe at this juncture. Whatever the Well is, she wants it for herself. Tread carefully, Inquisitor."

"What do you think the Well is?"

"Dangerous," he said shortly. "All power comes with a price. Only rarely is it worth it. We must pick when to drink deeply… and when to abstain." He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger there for a moment. "Remember that."

Then he turned and walked after the rest of the group, Errol hurrying after him, her brow furrowed.

The temple breathed secrets like air. She chose to walk the petitioner's path, despite Cassandra and Cole's protestations. It cleared her head, like each step she took solidified her, made her breathe easier. This place was the opposite of the Nightmare-controlled part of the Fade; it was infused with a subtle, gentle magic, motherly and protective. It made her feel stronger, wiser, fuller, taller, more real, but also more humble. The Fade was so close it fizzed and almost glowed on her skin.

When she finally stepped off the final lighted stone she realized that everyone was staring at her. "What?"

"Golden, glowing, a sun brought down, yes, this is what it could be, should be, will be, must be," Cole said softly, voicing another's thoughts.

"You certainly continue to be interesting, Inquisitor," Morrigan murmured.

Errol approached Cassandra, who was looking at her with a mixture of pale faced confusion and awe. "What?" she asked again.

Cassandra shook her head. "I do not know. Maybe nothing. You just looked…"

"Radiant," Solas said from behind her, and when she looked at him she had no doubts about whose thoughts Cole had voiced. "Mythal could have no better petitioner." He swept one hand forward. "Shall we proceed?"

* * *

Abelas knew. There was something about the way he looked at her, the way he chose his words carefully, eyes narrowed, his magic unfurling through the air to prod gently at her. He might not know what she was but he knew she wasn't human, wasn't elven either, wasn't mortal. She sent her magic out as well, meeting his silently, and noticed with interest how his face and build were so similar to Solas', much more so than any other male elf she'd seen. Was that it, then? Was Solas an ancient elf? It would make sense.

No, something was still off. They both withdrew their magics, the initial inspection finished, satisfied for the moment that the other wasn't purely hostile. She promised that they would work together to keep Corypheus from the Well.

And then Morrigan had to go and fuck things up.

"I told you to keep an eye on her," Solas murmured as they followed their guide through the winding hallways of the temple.

"I didn't know she could turn into a _bird_," Errol hissed back. "Who does that?"

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra called sharply from ahead of her, drawing her blade. "I believe your penchant for burning things will be useful right about now."

"Oh?" Errol asked, one hand already bringing her staff forward as she skidded around the corner. "_Oh_," she said, and grinned darkly, the tip lighting up with flame, and it burned brighter because this place made her feel brighter.

"Hello, Samson."

* * *

And then there was the choice.

Errol didn't want to make it. She was tired and sweaty, covered in muck and blood and bits of red templar, and Abelas was looking at her with that searching expression on his face, his magic still whispering along her skin.

"You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you I can't deny," he said slowly. "You are marked twice already by our magics, and the temple itself seems to welcome you. However…" He hesitated, squinting. "Why, I cannot say, I fear that were you to partake there would be terrible consequences."

"More attempts to frighten us?" Morrigan said, seemingly not understanding that he was speaking to Errol alone. For that, Errol was grateful. Cassandra was already looking at her oddly, and she feared any more strangeness and Cole would have to intervene again.

Abelas ignored Morrigan. "_Is_ that your desire? To partake of the Vir'abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?"

"And the cost?" Errol asked.

"If you brave it, you will be bound forever to the will of Mythal."

"Bound, to the will of a Goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?" Morrigan asked scornfully.

Abelas looked at her as if she were a child. "Bound, as we are bound. The choice is yours."

Errol knelt by the water and listened to it. She was vaguely aware of dim voices in the background, Solas saying something to Abelas in elven, Morrigan's voice mixing in like waves on the sand. The water hummed gently of a thousand lives lived, some long, some short, some well lived and some not, all stories worth telling. She could sense fragments of them, words and letters but not sentences, colors but not pictures. It was like swimming, but she knew that if she drank it would be drowning, that if she heard more, saw more, it would rush over her head and pull her apart. Her body wasn't like a mortal's; it was created from Fade and magic and will, and if the will of a thousand other voices overtook hers she would break like a plate fracturing on the floor.

"Inquisitor?"

She looked up at Morrigan. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I was… saying that I am best suited to use the power of the Well… were you not listening?"

"Oh, yes, of course." She stood and backed away. "It's all yours."

Morrigan pressed her lips in a thin line as if she suspected Errol was playing a trick on her. "Truly?"

"I don't want it," Errol said honestly. "Please," she said, gesturing to the Well.

Behind her, she felt more than heard Solas' long slow sigh of relief. Cole was more bold, slipping his hand in hers. "Good," he said softly. "Too many voices, shouting, shattered, your skin too thin to hold them all."

"I know," she said, squeezing her fellow spirit's hand, which was feeling more like a human's hand every day. She knew the day would come, maybe in one year, maybe in ten, when he would no longer be able to make them forget.

"Today isn't that day," he whispered.

"I know that too."

The water rushed over Morrigan, flooded into her skin and filled her like a drum, elven words babbling from her tongue, elven power on her fingertips. She gathered them up and swept them through the Eluvian just as Corypheus came charging into view, and when she touched Errol her golden eyes widened and she mouthed one word.

_Spirit._

* * *

The moment they returned to Skyhold Errol set to work sending ravens to Cullen, Celene, and anyone else still on the ground in the Arbor Wilds, informing them that they were back at Skyhold and to immediately retreat. The main body of the forces would stay and finish breaking Corypheus' red templars, but she needed a core contingent of troops and her top aids back home and safe. She needed Cullen safe. She wondered what they thought now, if he thought she was dead, and resolved to seek him out in the Fade that night and explain everything to him.

But first, there was the matter of Morrigan.

"I have been waiting here all day, Inquisitor. I should have known you'd come skulking by in the evening, when everyone else has left and the shadows are long. Luckily, I have much to sift through to occupy my time, 'else I would have become restless."

Errol scowled at the witch. "I'm not _skulking_."

"Do you really want to argue semantics with me, Spirit from another world?"

"Will you _pipe down?_"

"There is no one else here."

Errol huffed and sat next to her on the low wooden bench. She was right; the garden was quiet, the last of the orange daylight spooling like thread through the trees as the sun hovered on the edge of the horizon. The cold of evening tinged the air. Everyone else was at supper, leaving just the two of them and the soft whisper of rustling leaves.

"You're not going to tell anyone," Errol said. "…are you?"

"It would gain me nothing," Morrigan said, her fingers gently tracing the spine of the elven book she had been reading. "The Well has opened my eyes to many things but not all. There is so much left to learn, to understand. What I see now is that you are a spirit, but you are still the leader of the Inquisition. You are needed. I would not tear _my ally_ down."

"Thank you," Errol said, though Morrigan's words troubled her. There was something in the way she said _my ally, _as if it were a threat, a warning. They were allies now, but would they always be?

"The Well whispers something else to me," Morrigan continued. "It tells me that you bear another Mark besides the one on your hand, one that is hidden on your person." Her golden eyes lifted and focused on the juncture of Errol's neck and shoulder. "There. I would see it."

Errol instinctively pulled her collar tighter. "No. That's personal."

"It could be dangerous. Do you even know what it is?"

"I know enough."

Morrigan's gaze slid to catch Errol's. "Do you?" she murmured. "I wonder. I cannot tell what it is without seeing it, only that it is old, and powerful. You should show it to me. Knowledge can only help, Inquisitor. Knowledge is power."

Errol didn't want Morrigan having any more power over her than she already did. "Exactly," she said, not breaking eye contact. Finally Morrigan sighed and turned away.

"As you wish, though you may come to regret that decision."

Errol relaxed slightly and let go of her collar. "It's my decision to regret." She paused, weighing the words in her mind. "However, I do have a question for you."

"Ask."

"You're fluent in Elvish now, right?"

"Completely." Morrigan tilted her head, curious again. "You wish me to translate something?"

"Just a word." Errol took a breath and said it carefully, making sure she didn't stumble over the pronunciation. It had been a long time since he told it to her in the future that never was, but she still whispered it to herself at night so she wouldn't forget.

Morrigan's eyes unfocused as she processed it. "It's a very old word," she said. "One of the earliest forms of Elvhen. It's a vague language, each word having several different interpretations. Might I ask where you heard this one?"

"In the future," Errol said in a flat voice, with no further explanation. Morrigan lifted an eyebrow.

"You do lead an interesting life."

"Do you know what it means?"

"It has several layers of meaning. The most basic of which is a verb form: _to unbind, _or perhaps: _to untether_, to make undone, as a knot unwinding. Does this have special meaning to you?"

Errol chewed on her lower lip, thinking. It could mean so many things. She finally had the answer after all of this time and it was frustratingly vague, which she guessed was the point. "Maybe. I'm not sure."

"Tell me if you discover its meaning. You bring me so many curiosities and so few answers." She placed her book down and stood, stretching. The sun was down and the garden was nothing more than a patchwork of shadows, but the biting air didn't seem to bother Morrigan, who apparently owned no other clothing besides her impractical bikini top armor combo. Errol shivered and looked at the witch jealously. How did she manage to never be cold, or for that matter, never be stabbed through the heart in battle?

Errol tried to suppress a snort at the idea of a _protect my boobs_ spell. Now wasn't the time. She'd tell Sera later.

"I know of a way to match Corypheus' power," Morrigan said, looking down at her. "We must summon Mythal."

Errol sighed, her sudden mirth gone. "Of course. Of course we do."


	27. Bittersweet Calm

_**AN: Another day, another chapter edited due to that tricksy NSFW content. Find me as Unstoppablei at Archive of our Own to read the whole chapter in all its smutty goodness. Thanks!**_

* * *

**Chapter 26: Bittersweet Calm**

It took Morrigan nearly a week to make preparations for the trip to Mythal's altar, and from the ravens she was receiving Errol wasn't sure if Cullen and his small contingent of forward troops would arrive before or after they left. She busied herself with the affairs at Skyhold and abroad, locking herself away with Josephine and Leliana for long hours in the War Room, directing resources like puzzle pieces across the great map and waiting for news.

It wasn't until the eve of their trip that Errol finally made her decision to approach him. Whether it was the best idea in the world or the worst, he was still their top fount of elven knowledge, outside of Morrigan, and she didn't trust Morrigan any further than she could throw her.

Errol leaned against his doorway once again and watched him paint in meditative silence, the nagging, forever question lingering in the back of her mind. After everything that had happened, why did she keep giving him chances? What chance was this now, fourth, fifth, sixth? Why was she so determined to right what was wrong between them, to fix what was broken? There was a tie that was forged through months in the Fade, when he taught her every night, when he was one of the only ones who believed in her, when he was arrogant and smug yet teased her and guided her, when he looked at her with pride and nothing else. She craved that connection again, couldn't believe it was just gone, swept away by this insane obsession of his. He was more than that, too smart, too methodical.

She wanted to believe they could get through this.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's impolite to stare?"

Errol jerked out of her reverie to see him regarding her thoughtfully. When they caught eyes he merely quirked his mouth and returned to his painting.

"I was… thinking."

"Very intently, one presumes."

She shifted on her feet. "I hear you're not coming to Varric's game tonight. You should. Everyone will be there."

His hand worked delicately, filling in the smallest patch of deep blue. "I would beat all of you too easily. I fear it would be no fun for anyone, myself included."

"My, don't we think highly of ourselves."

"It's not thinking highly if it's a fact." He contemplated, then changed his finely pointed brush for a larger one and dipped it in red, dragging paint across the wall. "Besides, there is much to do and little time to accomplish it all."

Errol glanced at his desk; it was covered in open books and scraps of paper with scribbled notes on them. "What are you researching?"

"Ways for you to return home to say goodbye," he said, shading the red deeply in one corner so that it created a rich shadow. She looked at him, surprised, and he continued. "It occurred to me that it is the only thing you have asked for yourself the whole time you have been here. After all I have put you through, if we both of us survive this, I would give you that."

Her hand drifted down, flattening out a crumpled piece of paper with what looked liked a sophisticated mathematical equation on it. She couldn't help but sound cautious. "Oh. Thank you."

He sighed and put down the pallet and brush, finally turning to her. "You don't trust me," he said flatly, and when she opened her mouth he shook his head. "It's all right; I've given you no reason to trust me as of late. I have been rather intrusive."

Errol couldn't help herself: she started laughing so hard she had to sit down on the edge of his messy desk to keep herself from falling over.

"That's what you call it?" she said. "Rather intrusive? _Rather intrusive?_"

He shifted, uncomfortable in the face of her laughter. "I am attempting to apologize."

She took a moment to calm down. "Sorry, I… sorry." She took a deep breath. "It's not funny."

"Are you quite finished?"

"Yes. I think."

He walked over and mimicked her posture, leaning next to her on the desk, so that they were both staring at the almost-finished mural, their pinkies touching. "It is not easy for me to say this."

Errol looked at him out of the corner of her eye. The atmosphere was suddenly very serious. "Are you really apologizing?"

"Perhaps." His gaze dropped to where their fingers touched.

"Perhaps isn't enough, Solas."

"Yes, then. I would ask that you… forgive me. I have been alone for a long time, and to find someone you want, only to have them run to the arms of another, is… trying. I should not have…" He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.

Errol bumped his shoulder with hers. "I never meant to hurt you," she said softly. She hadn't paused to take his feelings into account before; she hadn't been able to, he had been too mercurial for that, like grasping at mist. She never really figured out if he truly cared for her or if he was just using her. But here, now, he seemed vulnerable for the first time.

"I know," he said. "And yet I hurt you. I have been foolish. Let me do this for you."

She leaned her head against his. _Oh Solas_, she thought. _If only you had been like this all along. If only you had been open with me._

Out loud, she said: "We have to survive first."

"We will. Have faith."

"In what?"

"In yourself, if nothing else."

"Me against Corypheus?" she asked, then sighed, a little puff of air. "Come on, Solas. We all know how this is going to end."

"Is that what you're doing tonight? Saying your goodbyes? Is that why you're forgiving me so readily for my many trespasses?"

"I'm glad I came here, no matter what happens. I'm glad I met you."

His hand moved to lightly cover hers. "That's not an answer."

"Yes it is."

"You will not die, Errol. You must have faith in that. You have grown incredibly in your time here. You have beaten him every step of the way."

"My spies, military, and dumb luck have beaten him at every step. I've never faced him alone, not since Haven."

"You will not die. And you won't be alone."

"There through the end, huh?"

He moved to press a chaste kiss to her hairline, then resumed his position. "I kept you alive from the moment you stepped through the Breach. I will not let you die now."

She smiled. Here, on the eve of battle, she finally felt like things were normalizing again. "I missed this."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a moment more. Then, she said: "I spoke with Morrigan. She knows about me, but she won't tell."

Solas huffed, his disdain for the witch clear. "Unless it's advantageous for her, I assume."

"She wants to summon the spirit of Mythal."

He looked down at her, suddenly interested. "Oh?"

"You'll come, won't you?"

"If you want me to."

"I don't think anyone else here is quite as qualified to face down an elven God, if it comes to that."

"I'm honored by the invitation," he said, and she heard the smile in his voice.

"Good." Errol stood and stretched. "We're leaving before dawn. Morrigan said it's not far; with a hard day's riding we can hopefully be there and back by nightfall. I don't want to risk being away from Skyhold for too long. We have no idea what Corypheus might do next."

"I will be ready," he said, standing as well, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Sure I can't change your mind about the game?"

"Believe me, you don't want him there," a new voice said, and they both turned to see Varric beaming beatifically in the doorway. "Just talk to anyone who's played anything against him. He'll learn something he's never even heard of, go up against a pro, and leave them walking out without any money or breeches."

"I do have a rather impressive collection of won breeches," Solas said solemnly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Errol laughed as Varric grabbed her hand.

"Now come _on_, Sunshine, you can talk to Chuckles about his pilfered pants later. Wicked Grace waits for no one, and I've got a surprise for you."

* * *

Errol paused in the doorway, amazed, as always, by Varric's ability to bring everyone together. They were in the otherwise empty tavern, two tables pushed together and several barrels of ale rolled out just for them. Almost everyone she cared about in all of Thedas was already seated – and there at the far side of the table was Cullen, still in his armor and looking tired and a little lost as Iron Bull urged him to take a gulp from a foam-topped mug.

Errol was torn between being elated and furious, and Varric's hand tightened on her forearm. "Now now, Sunshine, it's not Curly's fault."

"When did he get back? Why didn't anyone tell me?" she asked, just as Cullen looked up and met her eyes, his shoulders sagging with obvious relief to see her standing there.

"Not that long ago, and we _were_ looking for you, honest. But the game was about to start, and I thought, hey, why not arrange for a little treat? I had to beg and maybe bribe him to come. Thought it would be nice. Isn't this nice?"

The dwarf sounded unsure. Errol looked down and relented. "Okay, it is nice. But he must be exhausted."

Varric brightened and flashed her one of his infamous smiles, suddenly cocksure again. "Eh, he can sleep when he's dead, which, considering Corypheus, might be next week for all we know. Now, let's play some cards."

Errol followed him fully into the room. She circled the table to kiss Cullen's temple and run her fingers through his hair before taking her seat, the weight lightened for a few precious moments. Her favorite people in one room, on the eve of a final battle that was fast approaching.

* * *

"…he saluted, turned on his heel, and marched out like he was in full armor," Cullen said an hour later as he finished his story, his tongue loosened by drink, sending the rest of them into a fit of giggles. Errol laughed so hard that she snorted, making everyone else, including Cullen, laugh harder.

"Always sexy, Sunshine," Varric said, shaking his head.

"I try." She caught Cullen's eye and winked. She turned her attention back to Varric. "Remind me to teach all of you Poker sometime. Then maybe I'll actually win a game."

"Blah blah blah my world is so great," Iron Bull drawled in a bored voice. "Sure your music is better but what's a world without dragons, or battle, or _me_?"

"Sounds like a pretty good world, actually," Blackwall quipped, even his sins forgiven in the face of the oncoming storm, and they all laughed. The ale was flowing freely, the fire was warm, and every little jibe made them laugh like schoolchildren.

"Don't worry, Bull," Errol said after a long drink. "This world is much better, mostly because of the dragons, the battles, and you."

"Don't tell him that, he'll get _ideas_," Cassandra said with a mockery of her usual disgusted noise.

"Come now," Dorian said, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Are you honestly telling us that our world is better, even with a crazed Magister-darkspawn trying to destroy everything and the political infighting and murder and at times quite frightening lack of hygiene?"

"Even with," she said, smiling at them. "Because all of you are here."

There was a moment of awkward silence in which everyone seemed to blush and no one could meet her eyes. Finally Dorian coughed. "Well it seems like the stress has finally gotten to her. Maybe she should see a healer? Fractured skull, perhaps? Or she's possessed?"

Errol smiled to herself and took a long drink as everyone laughed.

"Okay Sunshine, your turn to tell a story," Varric said as everyone tossed more money into the pile at the center of the table and Cullen lost another piece of his armor to Josephine. "Something fun from before you came to us. What were you like?"

"Hmmm," Errol said, sorting through her cards. "I'm not sure if I can tell you what I was like, but I can tell you what I did. Undergrad had a lot of escapades. It's schooling you get for higher level jobs, but you live with other students and you're all 18 to 22 years old and away from home for the first time with access to alcohol and other substances—"

"I like where this is going!" Iron Bull said, pouring himself another beer.

"Are you sure Curly's going to want to hear these stories?" Varric said, snickering at the blush that had already crept up Cullen's neck.

"No, tell tell!" Josephine said excitedly. "And Cullen, your shirt now, please, did you think I'd forget?"

"I won't tell any of the really bad ones," she said, waving her hands. "How about this. I was twenty-one, and Jules and I decided to sneak onto the roof of one of the tallest buildings on campus for some topless sun bathing. All of the windows were supposed to be locked but we knew of one that never was, so it would be private, our little secret. Of course, we didn't know about the parade that day…"

* * *

By the time she finished the story the game was nearly over and even Cassandra had her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"… so we ended up across the border and the rashvine lasted for a week!" she finished, substituting rashvine for poison oak so the ending wouldn't go over their heads.

"That _can__'__t_ be true," Varric said, sounding impressed.

"That's scandalous!" Josephine said. "It would ruin the Inquisition if anyone found out! … Tell it again."

Errol giggled into her beer. "Okay, it's 80 percent true. I'll leave you to figure out the twenty percent that's false."

"The five-legged dog," Dorian said.

"The man with the hooked hand," Blackwall said, leaning in. "That part can't be true."

"A country named Canada," Iron Bull said. "If you're going to lie at least make it believable."

Errol started laughing so hard she was actually gasping, her face turning red, her head dizzy from beer and lack of air. "You guys," she sputtered when she could speak, beaming at them. "I love you guys."

"Boss, you are the sappiest drunk I've ever seen," Iron Bull said, shaking his head.

"So, one more round?" Varric said, tossing in the last of his silver.

"Yes," Dorian said gleefully. "Our dear Commander still has his pants on."

"I can win this one!" Cullen insisted. "It's just taken me a while to discover Josephine's tells."

"I'm going to watch," Errol said, leaning on her hands and grinning. "I'm just want to know what Josie will do with a pair of used men's small clothes."

"Hang them from the flag pole?" Varric suggested.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "Of all the childish—"

"Hey Seeker, did I tell you I'm working on another chapter of Swords and Shields?"

Cassandra was immediately engrossed in her cards, the tips of her ears pink.

Varric smirked. "So, like I was saying, flagpole?"

* * *

The tavern was quiet after everyone left. Errol leaned against the fireplace, reveling in the warmth and the pleasant buzz of alcohol. "Thank you," she said to Varric. "I needed this."

"We all did," he said. "Final battle coming soon and all… we needed to make some good memories. I wanted to make sure everyone remembered that you're not just the Inquisitor."

His words hit her hard somewhere between her stomach and chest. She swallowed. "Thank you."

"Not that I think…" He dragged his hand down his face. "Ah shit, I always say the wrong thing."

"No, no, it's good. I have the same thoughts."

"It's just… it's easy to forget that you're not just an icon or a symbol, like those statues of Andraste holding bowls of fire."

"You'd never forget," she said, and he shook his head.

"Nah, how could I? I've heard you say things that would make a sailor blush. I don't think anyone in this room tonight will forget either. History might make you an icon, but these people? They'll remember that you got drunk and told them all that you loved them and snorted when you laughed. That's what matters."

The pressure was still heavy on her chest. "I'm glad."

"We'll—" He seemed to struggle with the words. "We'll play another game when this is all over."

She nodded. "Yeah, sure. Absolutely." Her voice sounded hollow. She straightened and tried to perk up. "Anyway, I should bring Cullen his clothes. After all of that and Josephine just gave them to me. His sprint of shame was for nothing."

Varric coughed and looked both guilty and smug. "Yeah, about that. I had a feeling the evening might play out something like this, so I took the liberty of locking the back exit, you know, the one through the storage room that anyone looking to make a quick escape would use? I also might have… tampered with the inner lock so it would jam behind them, trapping the unfortunate person in there in the dark. Just a bit of fun." He coughed again. "Okay, actually it was Sera's idea, but she got drunk before she could implement it."

"Wait, so you're saying that Cullen is currently trapped in the storage room?" Errol asked incredulously. "Naked?"

He nodded. "You might want to do something about that."

She started to giggle helplessly. "Varric, you might be my best friend. Don't tell Dorian, he takes his title seriously."

"I take it just as seriously, Sunshine," he said, lifting his chin. "That's why you gotta promise me that me and Bianca will be there for any final fight between you and Corypheus. I won't sit on the sidelines and let you do all the dirty work." She opened her mouth and he held up a hand. "But for now, no arguing. You've got a trapped Commander to attend to and I've got a kitchen that's calling my name. Goodnight, Sunshine. See you in the morning."

"See you," she said softly as he ambled out.

Errol collected Cullen's clothes and turned toward the storage room. She had some good memories to make.

Soon, she feared there wouldn't be any good memories left.


	28. Gods and Pretenders

**Chapter 27: Gods and Pretenders**

It was almost shocking, how quickly it happened. One moment, everything was normal — just another day, waiting, on edge, a moment in the War Room, discussing options, Cullen's normally neat hair mussed from waking up next to Errol that morning and subsequent activities, Leliana and Josephine gently ribbing him even as they discussed sending envoys into the deep roads or the progress of their soldiers returning from the Arbor Wilds — and then it was all green light and noise and Errol knew the end had come.

"He's in the Valley of Sacred Ashes," Errol said, her hand sparking emerald fire. Of course — starting where it all began.

"You either close the Breach once more, or it swallows the world," Morrigan said with an almost supernatural calm. Errol could already feel the witch gathering her power, preparing for the change, the dragon whispering under her skin.

"But that's madness!" Josephine exclaimed. "Wouldn't that kill him as well?"

They all read the answer in each other's faces. Corypheus was willing to die for his mad plan.

Cullen shook his head, his face pale. "Our forces haven't returned from the Arbor Wilds. You'll have no back up."

Errol clenched her hands into fists and nodded slowly. "I'll have enough. The best team I can ask for is here at Skyhold." She forced herself to look relatively calm. "Besides, I promised Varric he'd get a few shots in. And you know Iron Bull has been waiting to kick some demon ass."

"I'm coming too," Cullen said, moving quickly to her side of the table.

Errol shook her head. "No."

"I'm afraid this is not up for argument," he said, hand on his sword. "I'm not letting you go there alone."

"I won't be alone. You are the Commander of our forces and—"

"Right now _you_ are our forces!"

"I agree with Errol," Leliana said. "Remember your position, Cullen, you can't—"

"I watched Errol die once, at Adamant, and I was too far away to do anything about it," he snapped, his back straight, looking far more like a lion than he had any right to. "Damn being a Commander and damn my position, I won't let that happen again. I am going with the forward team. If I die, there are capable men who can take over. Choose one of them. I leave with Errol." With that he put his hand on the small of her back and forcefully propelled them out the doors.

He led them past Josephine's empty huge chair and through the second set of doors, pausing just before the doors that led to the great hall. In that last private space he pushed her against the wall and kissed her, hard, his teeth nipping at her lower lip, his tongue urgently demanding access to her mouth, which she gave willingly, twining her arms around his neck.

Errol tried to memorize how he tasted, the sounds he made, the way his hair felt under her fingers and how his stubble rasped against her chin. After a long moment he drew back, shaking, and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Do not try and make me stay behind," he said harshly. She shook her head.

"I know you won't."

He kissed her again, even harder, his hands tangled up in her hair, his mouth almost punishing on hers, like he was trying to imprint the feel of her. When he spoke again his words were ragged. "If you die, I die," he whispered. "So you best not die."

"I'll try really, really hard," she promised. "But only if you promise not to die as well."

He nodded, his thumbs gently sweeping the curve of her face.

"I love you," he said. "More than I have ever loved anything. More than I ever will."

She kissed him, letting her tongue tangle with his without finesse or subtly. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she breathed. "No matter what happens, never doubt that."

He nodded and leaned his forehead against hers again. "Good." Then with a shuddering sigh he stepped away.

The Great Hall was still and eerie; it felt like a breath being held. The nobles had fled to the Chantry or their rooms, and Errol found her friends already waiting for her. Iron Bull stood with the Chargers; Cassandra was the consummate Seeker, shield on her back and sword at her waist; Dorian had his skull staff in one hand, his mustache perfectly curled; Blackwall stood apart, and he met her eye with a determination that bordered on suicidal; Vivienne was all elegance and ice-cold strength.

"Suit up, Inquisitor," Varric said, balancing Bianca on one shoulder. "We're all waiting on your command."

Cole slipped one hand into hers. "He won't hurt you," he whispered fiercely. "I won't _let_ him."

"Time to shoot Coryface, yah?" Sera asked, shifting restlessly. "Come on, then, let's move it. Sooner there, sooner back for the after party and the things-getting-back-to-normal party."

Solas lingered in the doorway of his room, armor on and staff in his hand, watching, waiting.

Errol's heart suddenly felt too big for her chest. She nodded. "Give me two minutes," she said. "I have no idea how you all got ready so quickly."

"_We_ went straight for our armor and weapons," Dorian said, then gave her and Cullen a suggestive smile. "What were _you _doing?"

She shook her head. "Two minutes," she promised, then turned and sprinted up to her room, the pulsing green light pouring through the windows. As she dressed she made a point to tuck Cullen's coin, now hanging from a chain around her neck, under her armor where it would stay safe. She still couldn't quite wrap her head around the fact that the final battle was now. After all this time, it was here, and she would be damned if a single person in that hall died today.

She thought of Flemeth's words, when she had asked her for advice, how the Witch of the Wilds and Goddess Incarnate regarded her with one eyebrow raised imperiously.

_'You?'_ Flemeth had said, right before she walked away in a haze of smoke and magic. _'What would I even offer, spirit child? You never have nor ever will take anyone's advice. You plow forward, heedless of the cliffs below, and I fear it may end in blood and fire. If you think that a few words now can stop you, well, you've overestimated even my power.'_

Perhaps Flemeth was right, Errol thought, clasping the last of her buckles into place. She would die before a single one of them fell. That was a forgone conclusion, and she had made peace with it. No matter what she told Cullen, Errol intended to fight to the death to make sure that they lived.

She emerged back into the hall in full battle gear, staff in her hand, once more and perhaps for the last time the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste.

It was time.

* * *

"I knew you would come," Corypheus crowed, the orb spiraling madly and glowing red between his clawed hands. She felt rather than heard Solas' sharp intake of breath at the sight of the elven orb so corrupted.

"This ends now!" she shouted, feeling like a cliche but meaning it, down to her bones. Her staff erupted into fire just as her left hand burst into green flame, and it felt like her whole body was burning. _Andraste__'__s holy fire, indeed. _"Motherfucker!" she added for good measure, because it felt good to curse at him, to feel like her old self again, once more the Owl, sharpening her talons.

"And so it shall," he said, and then everything glowed that awful red and groaned and snapped and broke and there was screaming and it _lifted_—

Errol fell to her knees as the ruins of the Temple started to rise from the ground with a thunderous roar. She turned and saw the rest of them struggling to stay upright, the stone under them crumbling, Cullen valiantly attempting to put one foot in front of the other, Solas leaning hard on his staff as it anchored him to the ground.

This was exactly what she needed. Errol opened her hand and filled it with green light. _Forgive me._

Varric realized her intent first, but he couldn't let out more than a strangled cry before her barrier blasted him back. It took even the mages off guard, and by the time they attempted to rally the Temple had rocketed upward, stranding them hundreds of feet below. She thought she heard Cullen scream her name, but it was carried by the wind; she knew she felt Solas' mana press against her, the attempt at a Fade-step, but even he was blocked by the speed and the vicious, tainted magic.

"Noble but ultimately foolish, as all noble deeds are," Corypheus drawled in the smug voice of someone who knew he had won. "You merely spared your friends the honor of being killed by a God, but they will find death on the ground, I've set loose enough demons to ensure that." He passed the orb through the air from hand to hand, though it never touched skin. "But it is only right that it ends as it started, the God and the pretender, the lost spirit from another world, alone at last. I've been waiting eagerly for the chance to take your world, and now in my victory I shall have it."

With that, his dragon emerged, all rotten scales and blighted body, but Morrigan pounced on it, lithe as a great cat, huge teeth snapping at its neck, and the two beasts screamed through the sky in a fight as graceful and wicked as a dance.

"You dare," he breathed. "So be it." He vanished behind what was left of the crumbling stonework of the Temple, and his voice echoed restlessly around her. "Come to me, little spirit who calls herself Herald, she who would be a pretend God, and I will flay the Fade-skin from your false bones and craft you as a my own pretty bridge to your world. Come, and die."

Errol gripped her staff and watched the dragons keen overhead. She would not follow Corypheus to her death without confirming the great beast's demise first.

Morrigan was fierce, tearing into the soft throat and belly of the red lyrium tainted dragon, but it held part of Corypheus' essence, and was vicious in its counter-attacks. It shredded one of her wings, leaving her barely able to fly, and she latched onto its foot, crushing it in her powerful jaws, taking it down with her. They tumbled to the ground and landed hard, but when the smoke cleared the dragon was still alive, and Morrigan was once again a wisp of a witch, her arm shattered, blood streaming from her side.

_Oh, shit._

The dragon turned on her, crumpled foot trailing behind it, the gash in its side streaming red intestines. It snapped foaming white teeth, half dead but vicious, angrier in its death throes, its wings beating frantically, crawling toward her, neck stretched and whining with bloodlust. Errol spun her staff and willed her heart to be calm and her hands not to shake. She lit it up with fire, still her strongest element, and followed that with spirit magic, the antithesis to the dragon's lightning. The massive jaws snapped; she Fade-stepped, something she had only just learned to do, and found herself by the heaving wet mass of intestines.

Errol drove her staff into them and sent fire straight through the dragon's innards. The stench was horrific as its stomach and bowels released. The dragon roared and spun its head around, crashing into her barrier with enough force to send her sprawling. Her back slammed against a jagged, broken wall. The teeth came up to her face and only the wood of her staff, coated in a film of spirit magic, stopped it.

Errol gritted her teeth as the beast pushed closer, its drool spooling in a long hiss to land on her armor, her staff creaking with the force of keeping the great jaws off of her. She whispered a curse, gathered the last of her energy, and shot a ball of fire from the cramped tips of her fingers down the dragon's open gullet. It lit the beast up from the inside out, and after a few final, delirious jerks, the huge head crashed down on her, eyes wide and unseeing, and a wisp of red fled from its body and up to where Corypheus watched the battle with rage-filled eyes.

"Let it end here!" he screamed, raising the orb high. "Let the skies boil! Let the world be rent asunder! You have no power left, and I will see you broken and bleeding before me, a sacrifice to a new God!"

The Breach yawned at his command, widened and grew, until she could feel the raw Fade tingling against her skin. If anything, it rejuvenated her, gave her the energy to push the massive head from her legs and stand again, shaking but determined. He was right — she was almost spent. But she was a spirit, and he was opening the Fade to her. Power flowed out, perhaps not enough to defeat him, but enough to—

What? What was her plan? Errol climbed the stairs, her trembling legs slowly growing stronger with each step, the Fade brushing against her skin, fellow spirits urging her on, tracing her skin with invisible fingers. _The orb, the orb_, they whispered urgently, and she felt it, the pureness, the heart of it that he couldn't taint, the true power that he couldn't hold.

The needle that pulled the thread.

She flexed her left hand and felt it burn green and righteous.

Finally she ascended the last step and came face-to-face with the would-be God. He attacked immediately, his power all lightning and red lyrium, and she met him with fire and spirit and Fade, but it was all a distraction, a decoy. She watched his eyes burn crimson, everything in him red and aglow, the orb above him like a rift she needed to close.

_That's all_, she thought as she danced and dodged another attack, letting him singe her, hurt her, her fire just missing her mark as his taunts grew more frenzied and victorious. _It's just another rift you need to close. You just need to reach, and pull—_

She lifted her hand, and flicked her wrist in that way she had so many times before, and yanked, hard, so hard it nearly took her off her feet. The orb jerked like its chain had been pulled and it spiraled out of its orbit and into her hand. The moment it reunited with its Anchor it turned emerald again, the poison red leeching out, and Corypheus' face changed from triumphant to confused to panicked in one beautiful instant.

"No," he snarled, and reached with his magic, trying desperately to pull it back. "Dumat, ancient ones, I beseech you, if you exist, if you ever truly existed, aid me now!"

The orb trembled but didn't move from her hand. Errol opened her palm and it floated there, peaceful, powerful. She felt the elven magic thrumming through her spirit body, and for an instant she was an elf again as she was in the Fade, the orb shaping her into its perfect vessel, into what it needed her to be at that moment.

She raised it up and it shot into the sky, into the heart of the Breach, the needle pulling the thread and knitting the ragged edges back together, neat and closed and perfect, until the scar in the sky was gone and it was nothing but clean heavens above. Then it barreled back down and she caught it, its weight comforting and familiar.

"You wanted into the Fade?" she asked, her voice savage and snarled, her eyes awash with green light. "Wish granted. I'll send you there in fucking _pieces_." The orb began spinning madly, and as it did Corypheus started to warp. It pulled him in, bit by bit, and as it did the orb's ancient power began to fracture.

Beads of sweat trickled down her face as she struggled to hold on. "You will never hurt anyone ever again," she breathed, pushing through the pain. As Corypheus died so did his spell, but Errol was only dimly aware of them barreling back to the ground, rocks slamming around them; she was flush with power, protected by the orb even as fissures and cracks flared along it as it stretched to accommodate Corypheus, to pull him apart and neutralize him, turn him into a part of the very Fade he had hoped to contaminate.

Finally, and with an agonized roar, the false god was gone. The orb lasted long enough to cushion her blow as the Temple crashed on the ground, and then it shattered in her hands, and everything went dark.

* * *

Errol awoke to a gentle healing spell and a cool hand on her forehead. She blinked, hazily, every muscle screaming in protest, and a pair of blue eyes swam in her vision. "Solas?"

"Don't try to move. It seems a piece of floating masonry toppled on you in the fall. You will be fine once they dig you out and you see a healer, but it is beyond me at the moment, I'm afraid."

Errol looked down to see that her legs were indeed under a pile of rubble. "Oh, so that's why I feel like shit."

"Among other reasons." He drifted his fingers over her brow and she felt a cut heal, though blood still dripped down the side of her face. "What you did was so beyond foolish there is not even a word for it. I cannot believe that you still live." There was anger in his tone, but it was buried under relief and a deep, dark sadness that she couldn't fathom.

She tried to smile but it was painful. "I'm still alive, and Corypheus is dead."

"True," he said, his fingers drifting down, his thumb sweeping the blood away from her cheek. "But the orb is destroyed. Had I been there, perhaps it could have been saved."

She refused to feel guilty. "I'd rather it gone and you alive."

"A noble sentiment," he said, sighing. "But ultimately foolish."

"That's what Corypheus said."

"Then perhaps for once in his long, blighted life he wasn't wrong. You should not have underestimated me."

She caught his hand in hers. "I saw you die once. I wasn't going to let it happen again. But I'm sorry about the orb. I am. I had no way of knowing it would crack under the pressure."

He sighed again and shook his head, pain evident in his face. "The fault is not yours," he murmured. "From the first, the fault was never yours."

She could hear desperate voices calling her name, the sound of rocks being overturned. "They're searching for me."

"They'll find you in a moment," he said. "And when they do I must be gone."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Gone? Where? Why?"

"That I cannot tell you, ma vhenan, my spirit," he said, and to her surprise he tipped her chin up and pressed one warm, soft kiss to her bloodied lips. "But I will return for you. I made you a promise I have yet to fulfill, and our tale is not finished."

"Solas," she murmured, grasping for him, but the Fade twisted and he was gone, and she was alone, still trapped under the fallen wall, fingers stretched toward a man who wasn't there.

Moments later Cullen came into view, and his relieved shout of "I've found her!" roused her from her daze. Soon the Inquisition had rallied around her and the stones were lifted from her legs, magic was assessing the damage, familiar arms were gently cradling her battered body, and potions were being tipped down her throat. She swallowed and sputtered, the familiar taste of elfroot warming her freezing skin and washing the tang of blood from her mouth. The world was starting to fade again, hazing in and out of focus, and dimly she realized that it was Cullen who held her, his smell familiar and comforting, and she grasped at his mantle weakly, desperate for something to cling to.

"It's okay," he reassured her, kissing her forehead, her temple, her ear, her cheeks, anywhere he could reach, his whole body thrumming. "You're alive, you're here, I've got you. I've got you. I won't let you go." He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath ragged. "Maker, Errol, you're alive and I'll never let you go again."

"Good," she breathed, and she didn't struggle when they brought her another potion that made the world swirl and tilt to black, a sleep without dreams or hurt or fear.

She was safe.


	29. Celebratories

**Chapter 28: Celebratories**

In the three days it took Errol to recover, a victory party was planned.

"Must I go?" she asked petulantly. She was sitting on her bed propped up by mountains of pillows, and wraps and poultices still covered her body.

Cullen laughed softly and held a grape to her lips, which she accepted sullenly. "Yes, I'm afraid you must."

"But… there will be nobles there. In their creepy masks."

He smoothed hair away from her forehead. "I believe that's the point. But the rest of us will be there as well. It is _your _victory celebration, my love."

Her face grew pleasantly warm at his words. He'd barely left her side as she recovered, bringing her meals, sleeping next to her at night but not touching her. Vivienne promised that the wraps would be removed that night and that one more round of intense healing magic would take care of the last of her fractures and bruises.

"I suppose it's all right, then," she said, taking a sip of water. "We could use a bit of celebration, considering the world didn't end."

"It nearly did."

She eyed him from over the top of her goblet. "Is this the part where you chastise me? I've been waiting three days for it."

He frowned, taking the goblet away and setting it neatly back on the side table. "Chastise isn't exactly the right word," he said carefully. "I suppose I should be furious with you. How would you phrase it?"

"Incandescent with rage?" she supplied helpfully.

"That has a nice ring to it." He held another grape up to her lips and she took it, her teeth sliding along the tips of his fingers. "But I can't be angry when you're here, alive. It was maddening, heartbreaking, outrageous, and ridiculous, but you lived, and the world is still here. Just… don't do it again."

She took his hand and pressed his palm against her cheek. "I won't. I promise. Besides, it's not like I'll have a chance, unless there are any more ancient Tevinter Magister god wannabes running around with their own magical orbs I'll need to destroy."

"Maker forbid," he said dryly, but she heard the exhaustion in his voice and saw the bags under his eyes. Errol kissed his palm and then nuzzled it again to her cheek.

"I am so sorry. I have no excuse except that in that moment I couldn't… I was ready to die, I thought that's how it was going to end, I thought that's how it _had _to end, and I wasn't going to take anyone else down with me. It was fatalistic and probably due to too many action movies as a kid. I know I— I terrified you. I know I did everything I wasn't supposed to do and I know I shouldn't take this lightly. If you had done the same, I don't know how I'd react. Probably kiss you and then smack you upside the head. All I can say is I won't leave you behind again. Not ever."

He leaned forward, resting his other hand on her jaw and pressing his forehead to hers. "Good," he breathed. "Corypheus is defeated and you live. That's all that matters to me. Yes, there are remaining rifts, and the Inquisition lives on, but you need not be the sole hero with the world on your shoulders anymore. The threat is gone. We can— we can have a life. Together." He looked into her eyes from two inches away, and his voice once again hitched into that slight stutter she knew so well. "That is, if you'll have me."

Errol wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. "Didn't I just say I won't leave you behind?" she asked, smiling widely. "You, you're — oh, I love you."

She pulled him in for a kiss, soft and gentle but underlied with repressed passion, his lips sweet against hers. When they broke apart he lifted his chin to kiss her brows, her forehead, her temples, his fingers gently combing through her hair. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he murmured like it was a chant. "My lady, my Inquisitor, my savior. My heart beats for you alone."

"Come, my lion," she murmured sleepily, capturing his lips in another kiss. "Let's take a nap. You look exhausted. We still have hours before the healers come back, and I want your arms around me again."

He didn't protest, just slid into bed and wrapped his arms around her, his body blissfully free of armor now that the immediate threat was gone. She turned into him, head tucked under his chin, hands resting on the smooth plane of his chest, and listened to his heartbeat until she fell asleep.

* * *

Once they awoke it was time to begin preparations, and Cullen left just before the four mage healers arrived. They worked in tandem, carefully unwrapping the last of her wounds and laying her out on a table like they had once a day for the past three days, their hands aglow, and knit the last of her fractured bones and torn muscles back together, until all that was left were scars and mottled bruises. They painted over those with soothing poultices and gave her small bottles of elfroot and embrium to drink until any lingering pain subsided. Normally even battle injuries were allowed to heal at a more steady pace, but nobility from across Ferelden and Orlais were on their way to Skyhold to meet with and congratulate her, and Vivienne and Josephine both agreed that she didn't have time to heal normally.

As soon as the healers were finished the two ladies in question swept into her room along with a flood of servants. Josephine at least had the grace to ply her with wine and little cakes, while Vivienne was crisp and cold as always, issuing orders like a military sergeant. Errol's bruises and the bags under her eyes were covered with heavy makeup, and her hair was smoothed and twisted into a complicated bun on top of her head.

"Ouch!" she said as the stylist tugged hard. "Isn't this supposed to be my party? Don't I get any say?"

"Yes it's your party, and your job is to sit there and look pretty," Vivienne said sternly. "Or must I remind you that three days ago you blasted me into the mud and refused to let me participate in a battle I spent years preparing for?"

Errol shut her mouth with an audible snap and Vivienne smiled. "Good girl."

"Your hats are silly," Errol grumbled quietly, unable to resist. Vivienne rolled her eyes.

"My hats are intimidating and fashionable, my dear, and if you're going to attempt to insult someone you should at least speak up. No one will take you seriously if you mumble. Now stop talking or you'll ruin your makeup. You need to look like the goddess who slayed Corypheus, not a commoner from a world without culture. Now, red tonight? I believe red will do nicely."

Errol scowled but stayed still and let them paint her lips a vivid red. The dress they maneuvered her into was red as well, strapless and backless with heavy skirts covered in a fine layer of black lace; the damn thing seemed to be held up mostly by willpower and an impossibly tight corset. A matching web of black lace pooled around her neck and trailed down her spine, fashionable yet clearly covering her scar. Solas had been right; neither Leliana nor anyone else had ever questioned it again, though they all still took pains to cover the wicked imprint of teeth and silvery scar tissue.

Errol looked at herself in the mirror. "Oh come on," she said, swishing her skirts and feeling mildly pleased despite her inability to breathe. "Now this is just cosplay."

They ignored her strange words, as they had long ago learned to do. "The goddess who cast down a would-be god," Vivienne said, looking at her with satisfaction. "In your victory you must look the part. This is not a time to be humble. Tonight you must be strong and sexual."

"Celene and Briala will be in attendance," Josephine said, offering her another sip of wine. "As will Queen Anora. This is as much your celebration as it is the first step of the Inquisition in a world without Corypheus. Now we must prove to everyone the continued need for our existence." She smiled at Errol and smoothed back a stray hair. "It will all be over soon."

"Everyone will be there, though, right?" Errol asked desperately, and Josephine's smile faltered.

"Yes, and I have already had stern words with Iron Bull, Varric, Sera, and the Chargers. I've requested they keep their drinking, fanciful embellishments, and… pranks to a minimum, though I fear they will not listen to me."

Errol grinned. "It will certainly be a night to remember."

"That, I'm afraid, it will." Her face brightened again. "Cullen will of course be in attendance, and will be quite dashing I believe."

"Vicarious enjoyment?" Errol teased.

"That title goes to the dwarf," Vivienne said, working a rose none-too gently into her hair. "I believe he is already hard at work on his next book. About you."

Errol's face paled. "Oh, no."

"I did hear it said once that you asked him to. Whatever would possess you to do such a thing?"

Errol blanched, remembering the night Haven fell. _Varric, someone has to tell this story. __I don__'__t trust anyone but you to do it justice. _"It was when I thought I was going to die! I didn't think that if I lived… Maker's breath."

Vivienne arched an eyebrow. "The Commander is rubbing off on you, I see," she said, and Josephine giggled so hard at the innuendo that it made Errol wonder how much of the wine she'd already had. "But I say in all honesty, Inquisitor, please do try and talk Varric down off of this particular ledge. I hear he's going to include some intimate details, and that would not be good for anyone's reputation."

Now Errol's face went from white to red. "I… I never… I never told him anything!"

"You always did choose your friends poorly," Vivienne tutted, and Errol gritted her teeth.

"_Dorian_."

"Do what you must, dear," Vivienne said, taking a sip of her own wine. "Just refrain from using fire this evening. It's uncouth to char you allies at your own fête."

* * *

It was, all in all, a lovely party. Errol's dress was still uncomfortably tight, but she had no gossip to search for and no backstabbing or evil duchesses to duel, and her friends were there, and there was the unmistakable taste of victory in the air.

Cullen hadn't arrived yet, so her first order of business was to hunt down Varric. He was standing on a chair, regaling an enthralled throng with tales from their journeys, only slightly embellished.

"And here she is, the lady of the hour! Or perhaps the year, or the century I should say," he said, gesturing grandly to her, and Errol was forced to dip into to curtsy even as she gave him a look so evil he actually blanched. "And it looks like that's the end of the storytelling for now! Come back in half an hour for the thrilling conclusion!"

The crowd muttered sadly and parted. Varric settled back down in his chair and took a long drink of beer. "So, Sunshine, looking good. Any reason you have your murder face on?"

She sat down as well and picked up a full glass of champagne. "I hear you're writing our tale."

He perked up. "Yeah! It's sure to be a best seller. Still working on the title. What do you think of: Oh, Shit, An Ancient Darkspawn Magister Is Trying To Destroy The World, The Tale Of The Inquisition. Colon: Also Dragons."

She sipped the champagne, then changed her mind and downed it. "Subtitle: Hey This Girl Fell From The Sky And Her Hand Glows, Let's Make Her Our Leader."

"I like it!" he said, and they clinked glasses. "But I ask again: Why the murder face?"

Errol reached for another glass of champagne and gave him a significant look. "I hear you're going to be putting in some details I'd rather remain private."

"What, you and Curly? If anything you should be blaming Sparkler. Never trust a Tevinter with your dirty laundry. I'm a writer. Once I knew the salacious details, how could I _not_ put them in?"

"Varric…"

"Plus, Cassandra's enjoyment of Swords and Shields got me thinking. Maybe I should cross genres. Make it not _just_ action or _just _mystery or _just_ romance. Put it all in there. What's the point of saving the world if you can't get some action, am I right?"

"I think people will object," she said, trying another tactic. "I am the Herald of Andraste, you know. Holy figure and all that."

"Eh, the Chantry can say it's all lies and nonsense if they want," he said, waving his hand. "And come on, do you really want the world remembering you as the virginal goddess?"

"I don't want them remembering me as the Inquisitor who gave a blow job in the storeroom!" she hissed quietly, and he brightened.

"Oh, is that what happened in there? Great, thanks. I needed that."

She groaned and downed her champagne. "I'm ruining my own life talking to you."

"Yep," he said, beaming.

Errol twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. "So, what will you do now? Besides write, I mean?"

"I figured I'd stick around for a while, at least until the book is finished. Best place for inspiration is to be in the thick of it. Plus I want to make sure the last of the red lyrium is destroyed. If you go hunting for it, make sure I'm in the party, okay?"

Errol nodded and stood. "Absolutely."

He caught her hand unexpectedly. "Hey Sunshine, what you did back there, at the final battle… I'm — I'm not—" He sighed in frustration, as if for once unable to voice his thoughts. "Just don't do it again."

She nodded. "Won't. Sorry." Then she surprised him by leaning forward and kissing the top of his head. "Thank you for everything, Varric."

He blushed and waved her off. "Don't think you can change my mind about the book with any of that nonsense."

"I'll change your mind," she said, walking away.

"Wanna bet?" he called after her, and she laughed.

"Always!"

Errol was halfway to Dorian when she felt strong arms wrap around her waist from behind. "I won't keep you long, as I'm sure you have a hundred other people to speak with," Cullen's voice murmured in her ear. "I just had to tell you how breathtaking you look in that dress."

She twisted so that she was facing him and ran her hands down his arms, noting that he was in a formal uniform of dark red that matched her dress, with epaulets at his shoulders and a ceremonial blade at his side, no armor to be seen. "You don't look so bad yourself," she said, brushing her thumb along his freshly shaven cheek. "Though I miss the mantle."

"You should get one of your own," he said, laughter hidden in his voice. "You're always eyeing mine."

"A lioness?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. Cullen nuzzled her temple, his hands low on her waist, his voice a purr.

"I like the sound of that."

Errol glanced over and saw Varric watching them with a huge grin on his face. She made a frustrated huff and Cullen turned his head.

"What's he done now?"

"He's writing."

"Isn't he always writing?"

"About us."

"It is a rather compelling story. Forming the Inquisition, closing the Breach, saving the world…"

"No, Cullen, about US."

He looked at her, his eyes widening. "About… us?" She nodded. "You don't mean what I think you do?"

"Heaving bosoms and stiff manhood and all."

He flushed. "Maker's breath… no."

"I was just on my way to Dorian to try and enlist some help."

Cullen's brow furrowed and he looked suspicious. "How could Dorian help?"

Errol shifted her gaze away. "Oh, you know, scary necromancer, rumored Magister, boyfriend is a seven-foot-plus tall Tal-Vashoth reaver…"

Cullen still didn't look convinced. "Well, if Dorian doesn't help we'll find another way. I will not see our personal affairs in one of Varric's ridiculous novels."

"I agree." She leaned up and kissed the hollow behind his jaw, flicking her tongue against his skin where no one else could see. He rumbled in the back of his throat. "I have rounds to make. I'll see you later, Commander."

"Of course, Inquisitor," he said in a low voice, dipping his head to her ear while his hand came up to cup her face. "Speaking of heaving bosoms, it's my solemn duty to inform you that I'll have you on your back and hoarse from screaming my name before the sun rises." Then he straightened and dropped his hand. "I'll leave you to your other guests."

She stood there for a moment, stunned, as he smirked and walked away. Then she gathered herself, avoided Varric's eye, and continued on her path to where Dorian was holding court.

"My lovely lady Kerr!" he exclaimed as she drew near, holding up his wine as if to toast her. "I have you to thank for the fact that I am apparently now beloved in the South. It's a little frightening to be honest, but I do love being adored."

She stopped in front of him and poked him right in the center of his especially sparkly outfit. "You sold me out," she hissed.

"Ah, so you spoke with Varric," he said, not sounding even a little sorry. "It was wrong of me, it's true, but I have my reasons."

"You convince him not to write anything salacious or I'll tell him to write a book all about you and Iron Bull. Every last detail." She looked over at where Iron Bull and Sera were currently engaged in a drinking contest, a worried Josephine hovering over them and ineffectually pleading with them to stop.

He gave her a bored look. "Darling, my love, my sweet child, don't use something that I want as a threat."

She stared at him blankly. "Huh?"

"What do you think I made Varric promise to do in exchange for all of that juicy information? It takes a lot to get me to betray a friend's trust, and I am sorry, at least, I should be. But look at me: once an outcast, a hated Tevinter mage, spat on by all, now beloved hero with a devastatingly sexy man in my life. I'm no stranger to attention." He held his hands up as if tracing a title. "What do you think of: _'Taking Life By The Horns: The Dorian Pavus Story'_?

Her jaw slowly closed. "That's… actually a pretty good title."

He smirked. "I am good at many things. Most things. Practically all things."

"I would hate you if you weren't right," she grumbled, and he looped his arm in hers.

"That's my girl, always teetering on the line between love and hate before acknowledging my innate superiority. I'm glad you fall on the love side, because you're going to be seeing a lot more of me."

She looked up at him, hope swelling in her chest. "You mean…"

"Yes, this is one Tevinter you're not getting rid of so easily. I have a lot going on for me here, I think I'll stick around. I'm sure I'll return to the homeland someday, but for now I can do more with the Inquisition. Besides, everyone knows you'd fall to pieces without me."

"Absolute pieces," she said, smiling. "Even though I'll never tell you my sex stories again."

"Shhh, of course you will," he said, releasing her so that he could pat her head with one hand and reach for a glass of wine with another. "I'll just have to get you drunker than before. Now, back to our regularly scheduled wine and music afternoons? I want to hear more of this 'Beyonce.' Solas is gone so there's no need to conduct them in the library anymore; I think Leliana will kill us if we rattle the birds again. Perhaps somewhere where Vivienne will hear? I'll have to ponder it."

"You do so," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Your mustache looks extra marvelous tonight, by the way."

"I used the fancy wax, thank you for noticing," he said, sounding genuinely touched. "Now go mingle and try not to think too hard about Varric's book and how many people will soon be reading about your quivering thighs. And have another drink; you're not nearly drunk enough yet."

* * *

Errol saw Blackwall leaning against the wall, a mug of ale in his hand that he didn't seem to be drinking. She snuck up behind him as best she could with her skirts swishing like the sea.

"Enjoying the party?"

He started and turned to her, his face grave. "It's not… exactly where I'm at my most comfortable, my la— Inquisitor. But I survived the battle, and I am here, as we all are."

Errol wasn't sure what to say to him anymore. With the exception of that one drunken night of Wicked Grace when the pressure of impending battle had driven him from his solitude, she had let him keep to himself in the barn, alone with his past and his demons.

He stared into his ale. "I think I'll… I plan to join the Grey Wardens, properly. Be the man I always pretended to be. I've written to Alistair at Weisshaupt and he's accepted my request to join. They need all the new recruits they can get, now."

Errol put a hand on his arm. "I'm proud of you, you know," she said softly. "And I'm… I'm sorry for what I said."

He shook his head. "You were right. Everything you said was right. I was going to sit in a cell while Corypheus destroyed the world. I was a fool. I was always a fool. At least now I can atone for it."

"I think you've been atoning for a long time."

He met her eyes and they were gentle again, raw. "Thank you… my lady. I never thought I'd need to have sense beaten into me. I guess there's a first time for everything."

"Glad I could help." She squeezed his arm. "Just don't leave without saying goodbye, okay?"

"I promise," he said, laying one hand over hers for just an instant. "Now go enjoy yourself. You saved the world!"

"That I did," she said, smiling. "Who would have thought. The girl who puked in fields managed to not fuck it all up in the end."

"I believed in you from the start," he said. "And that really is the truth."

Errol gave his arm one last squeeze and then left him, her heart a bit lighter.

* * *

It was getting crowded in the Great Hall. Errol slipped through the side door, and almost without intending to found herself in Solas' room.

It was exactly as he left it, his notes still a mess on the desk, his paints stacked neatly along the walls, his sheets folded on top of his cot. It smelled like him, like elfroot and paint and the faint, forever buzz of the Fade, like any moment he would come walking through the door, smiling his deceptively gentle smile at her, hands clasped behind his back, half the scholar, half the predator.

She wandered over to his massive paintings and really inspected them for the first time in a long time. They started at one side of the door and wound their way around the room, telling the Inquisition's story: The Breach, Redcliffe, Haven falling, Halamshiral, all of it. The end was unfinished, a defeated dragon only partially sketched, and there were other images she could only guess at: howling wolves, mirrors that might be Eluvians, a shadowed body radiating tendrils of light, hands raised as if in praise or supplication or revolt. There was more here than just the past; there was the future, and it unnerved her.

Somehow, despite everything, she missed him. Wanted him here tonight, telling her that she had done well, defeated the monster, saved the world, come so far and learned from his teachings. His apology had been a start but it wasn't enough. She wanted to believe, however impossible it was, that their fragile relationship could be repaired, that maybe at the end of it he would have told her his secrets and that maybe they could have gone back to the way it was at the beginning, friends, allies, trading barbs and smiles, before it got all tangled and awful and sick. Her hand went up to the hidden mark on her neck, the magic stirring lazily at her touch, warm and protective. Why had he given it to her, really? What was it? What was he? Why did he leave? Would he really return, and if so, what then?

"We still have found no trace of him."

Leliana's voice shook her out of her trance. Errol turned to see the Nightingale standing in the center of the room.

"I'm not surprised," Errol said. "If he doesn't want to be found I doubt he will be."

"We should have been more careful; we should have looked into his background earlier," Leliana said, chastising herself. "But we were so desperate for help with the Breach, and then with Corypheus, that by the time we had a moment to breathe we already trusted him. It was foolish."

"We were all fooled by him. Myself most of all."

Leliana looked at her, and for once she actually looked pitying. "Yes, I know the two of you were close, in ways I cannot begin to grasp. I was suspicious of it for a long time, but it seems in leaving he betrayed you as well. You say he was after the orb all along?"

"That seems to be the reason he stayed."

"Curious. Dagna is studying it, but so far there seems to be no way of repairing it. Perhaps we will never see Solas again, but I have a feeling that we will, and that when we do he will not necessarily be our ally."

There was a hollowness in Errol's chest that she couldn't dispel. "You may be right."

"I hope I'm not." Leliana paused. "There is one more thing that I wished to speak with you about, while we have a moment alone. There is nothing official yet, but I have received reports that…" She took a deep breath and when Errol looked at her she had straightened and tipped her chin up. "I am to become the new Divine."

Errol's face split into a huge grin. "Leliana, that's wonderful!" She crossed the room and pulled the Spymaster into a hug. They hadn't always been friendly but out of the potential candidates Leliana was the one who had the most stake in mage's rights. Errol couldn't bear the idea of locking the mages back up in a tower to await another day when the pressure would erupt again. She tightened her grip on Leliana's shoulders. "I will support you wholeheartedly," she said. "Just please try to kill as few people as possible, okay?"

Leliana patted her awkwardly on the back. "I will try." She pulled away. "I know you and I have not always seen eye-to-eye, but you have been a good leader, and I stand always with the Inquisition. I said once that you could never understand what we have been through. I take that back. You have been through it now, and survived. I consider you…" She hesitated and gripped Errol's shoulder, a smile curling her lips. "I consider you a Theodosian, Inquisitor Errol Kerr. Perhaps, considering your manner, even a Ferelden."

Errol rested her hand on Leliana's opposite shoulder. "Leliana, coming from you I'm not sure if that last part was supposed to be a compliment or an insult, but it's still the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Her eyes brightened. "Does this mean I can have a Marabi?"


	30. Truths Said and Unsaid

**AN: You know the drill, for the NSFW parts, find me as Unstoppablei at AO3! It's a _much _longer chapter over there!  
**

* * *

**Chapter 29: Truths Said and Unsaid**

It was a relief to leave Solas' empty chambers and return to the crush of humanity. The party was in full swing. Sera was now riding on Bull's shoulders, raising her beer stein to the heavens and occasionally hitting her head on the chandeliers. Josephine had given up all hope of reining them in. Luckily, Celene and Briala were ensconced in a corner sipping wine together, and Queen Anora was engaged in solemn conversation with Cassandra about rebuilding the Seekers of Truth. Vivienne was entertaining a group of important nobles. Cole was nowhere to be seen, but that was expected.

Errol flitted from group to group for a while, accepting thanks and congratulations and a few more drinks, but not so many that she felt anything more than a pleasant buzz. It felt good to be among her friends. She still couldn't believe that all of them had survived, that the only death that truly weighed in the pit of her stomach was Hawke. Part of her wanted to let Varric write whatever he wanted as penance for letting her die, but she knew she couldn't do that. She'd figure out how to sway him eventually, just not tonight.

Finally, she had kissed enough cheeks and curtsied enough that she felt she could slip away without it being inappropriate. Errol skirted the throne and headed toward her door, sighing in relief, but as she was about to touch the cool wood a hand clasped around her wrist.

"If you'll excuse me, I was just going to— oh!" she said, turning around to see Cullen standing there.

He stepped closer to her and slid his hand along her back. "I thought I might claim some of your attention," he said, his smile pulling at the scar along his lip. "I believe I made a promise to you earlier, after all."

Her heart sped up instantly. "I— yes, of course," she breathed, stepping back to the door and pulling him along with her.

* * *

"The sun is coming up."

Errol shifted and sat up, watching as the sun started to rise over the mountains and flood the room with yellow and pink light. "It's really over," she breathed.

Cullen leaned against the headboard and Errol settled against his chest. Together they watched the sun rise. She felt as if it meant something, like it was chasing away the last of the darkened shadows that Corypheus cast.

"I don't know what happens after this," he confessed, arms settling protectively around her.

Light filled the room, clear as crystal. Below them, the party had gone quiet; perhaps they were all watching the long night fade as well. "Neither do I," she said. "But I think we're off to a good start."

* * *

The next day, Errol found Morrigan in the room where the witch rarely slept, packing her few things into a well-worn bag.

"Leaving us so soon?"

"I was not going to slip away without saying goodbye," Morrigan said, carefully placing a wrapped bundle into the bag. "While I do intend the entrust the Eluvian in the Inquisition's care, I need to make sure it will properly looked after. And you and I still need to speak."

Errol curled her hands into fists, her nails just brushing the crescent-moon scars from years of clenching them too tight. "You're right. We do."

Morrigan turned and arched an eyebrow at her. "Ah. We've changed our mind, I see." She let her gaze linger on the curve where Errol's neck met her shoulder. "I have something to show you myself. Let us adjourn to somewhere more… private." At Errol's look, Morrigan raised her shoulders in an elegant shrug. "Leliana has never warmed to me, as it seems she has never warmed to you. She always sensed there was something wrong, something just out of reach that she couldn't grasp. The Nightingale unable to uncover a secret in her own castle? The horror. There are still spies about, even now that the immediate danger is over. Come."

She swept past Errol, her feet making no sound. Up the stairs, through long hallways and closed doors, until they reached the Eluvian. With one wave, the glass vanished, and warm mist curled from its empty expanse.

"The most private place there is," Morrigan said. "Also, where rests an answer that you seek."

Errol followed her through the mirror and found herself once again at the Crossroads, surrounded by mirrors that seemed to go on forever. Morrigan sealed the Eluvian behind her and turned. "Now," she said, her voice huskier, almost hungry in her thirst for knowledge. "The mark on your neck. That is what you wanted to show me, yes? I knew you could not just let me leave without knowing what it was, for both of our sakes."

Errol still hesitated. "I'm… scared," she admitted.

"The truth is frightening," Morrigan said. "But that does not mean you should not know it."

Errol forced herself to hold that golden-eyed gaze, like staring into the eyes of a wild hawk. Then she nodded and dropped her hands to the ties of her vest. "Yes," she said softly. "I have to know."

The vest dropped from her shoulders, exposing the silvery lines of scar tissue. Morrigan sucked in a great breath and approached her, her fingers gently hovering over it.

"Where did you get this?" she hissed, sounding genuinely alarmed. "Who gave this to you?"

"It… doesn't matter. What is it? Really?"

"It does matter." Morrigan grabbed her chin, scanning her face as if to pull the truth out of her. "The Well tells me that what you bear is the mark of Fen'Harel. A mark of protection, true, but one that names you as a lover of the Dread Wolf." She dropped Errol's chin and stumbled back. "Who gave it to you?"

"It's not… it's not like that!" Errol hurried to explain. "It's just the spell, the magic of it to protect me, I'm no one's lover, it's not from the god himself…" She trailed off; Morrigan was shaking her head.

"This is no simple magic that can be studied and duplicated, foolish girl. This is a magic that belongs to the god and only the god. It cannot be replicated by any other."

Color drained from Errol's face. Oh, shit. "Wait. So you're saying…"

Morrigan looked her dead in the eyes. "The only one who can bestow that mark… is Fen'Harel himself."

"No…" Errol said, backing up and waving her hands, and to her horror she began to laugh a little hysterically. "No, that's not… that's not poss— no nonononoonoonnoooo…. oh shit oh shit oh SHIT—"

Morrigan looked like she was trying to comprehend. "So you _didn_'t make love to—"

"NO!" Errol exclaimed. "I mean, we fooled around a little, but we didn't— oh SHIT," she groaned, sinking her head into her hands. "It makes so much SENSE now, all of that TALK, that FUCKING TALK, about IMMORTALITY, about being KIN TO GODS, FUCK, SHIT, ASS, FUCK I'M SO STUPID—"

"This is… a most unusual reaction," Morrigan said delicately. "Yet you still have not said a name."

"It's —" Errol said. Morrigan tilted her head.

"Come again?"

"It's —"

"Forgive me, I—"

"It's fucking —!"

Every time Errol tried to say his name the word seemed to warp and change until it was meaningless. She screamed silently, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Why can't I say it?!"

"Magic is binding your tongue, as it is fogging my mind, keeping me from seeing the obvious," Morrigan said softly. "Clearly he walked among us. If only I had known sooner I could have… but now it seems his powers have grown, and we cannot reveal or uncover what he does not wish. It is… most unpleasant." She frowned. "Did you say that you 'fooled around' with the—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Morrigan nodded and pursed her lips. "Then I fear there is nothing left to say on the matter. Come, I have something you must see."

They walked deeper into the Crossroads, past winding paths of dark and shattered Eluvians, the occasional clear mirror like a breath of fresh air. The further they walked the thinner the magic stretched, the Fade tighter around them, and Errol knew that when this bubble of Space collapsed on itself this area would be the first to go.

"The Well showed me a great many things," Morrigan said, coming to a stop in front of an ancient Eluvian. It was unbroken, the frame around it tarnished, the statues at its base so weathered Errol couldn't tell what they were originally supposed to be. "One of them was this."

She moved her arms, and the mirror rippled but didn't fully open; like a watery window, it flooded the pitch-black other side with blue light.

Errol stepped forward. "This is…" she breathed. "Where is this?"

"Somewhere in the very south of your world," Morrigan said. "Ancient, likely deep underground."

The blue light flickered off of slick white walls. "Or deep under the ice," Errol said.

"Yes. Protected through the ages by the barest of magics, from a time when this area was not frozen but a warm grassland with its own civilization and people unlike any you've known." She put a hand on Errol's arm. "Be warned, you cannot cross through this way as you are - as a spirit, you would dissipate and die. Only someone with a body could step through this gate if they had the key. Which is unlikely to ever occur. I am showing you only a vision, not opening the door. I cannot."

Errol nodded, her gaze fixed on the image before her. It was a rounded chamber of ice, with some kind of stone statues bordering the edge of the mirror, but Errol couldn't see what they were from this vantage point. Red flowers bloomed impossibly at its base. At the top of the chamber was a small circular hole with a black cord running out of it; her eyes followed the cord to the ground, and there in front of her was a—

"What is that?" Morrigan asked, appalled and fascinated.

Errol's breath caught. It was some kind of remote controlled device, with blinking lights and a rotating camera on top, the lens of which was currently fixed on them.

"Turn the Eluvian off," she said quickly. "It can see us."

"It can?" Morrigan asked curiously. "You do have things akin to magic."

"Off, now!" she snapped, and Morrigan reluctantly waved her arm and the Eluvian went dark.

"Have no fear, no one on your side has a key or any memory of how to use one. They might consider any interaction with magic a thrill, something to be fascinated with, but then it will pass. Your world will never see the kind of magic we do. Perhaps it did once, in an age lost to memory, but never again. Worlds change, and magic unnurtured easily dies."

Errol placed her palm on the closed Eluvian. The glass was cool. So close to the home she would never, could never return to.

"Thank you Morrigan," she said thickly. "It's good to know that it's here, even if I can't use it."

"It felt… necessary to show you," Morrigan said. "Though why I cannot say." She was quiet for a moment, letting Errol mourn. It wasn't until Errol straightened, her eyes dry, that Morrigan turned and began to walk back the way they came. "Come, it is time I departed Skyhold, and you have much to do, Inquisitor. Corypheus may be defeated but the Inquisition lives on. What happens next… is up to you."


	31. A Brief Respite

_**AN: This chapter is the littlest bit NSFW, and I'm not cutting it because eh. I'm tired and it's not that much.**_

_**And panda-chan, I can't PM you since you're a guest, but I wanted to reply to your comment... yes there is a sequel in the works, and I'll mark it here when it's posted, but I will not be posting it here. Due to this website's frustrating rules and the lackluster response in general, the sequel will be exclusively on Archive of Our Own. I'll give everyone the details when it's time, if you're interested in following me over there once this 'book' wraps up. Thanks!**_

* * *

**Chapter 30: ****A Brief Respite**

The next months passed in a blur of peace and activity.

Leliana left several weeks later to go through the process of being confirmed as Divine. The public ceremony was to be held at the end of the month, and Errol, Cullen, and Cassandra were expected to attend. Leliana had already informed Errol that she planned to reaffirm her support of the Inquisition in her confirmation speech, but that Errol would also have to stand up and state her unwavering support of the Chantry, something that Errol was not looking forward to.

Cassandra remained with the Inquisition for the moment as she sought out any surviving Seekers of Truth and started to rebuild the Order, with the new Divine's support. Sera, Iron Bull, and the Chargers stuck around as well, accompanying Errol as she continued to close rifts and track down hidden Seekers for Cassandra. Cole was still there, of course, forever Errol's friend and shadow, though he grew more human with each passing day, now eating and sleeping at least twice a week.

Vivienne returned to the court at Halamshiral, taking up her old spot now that Morrigan had vacated it. The Witch of the Wilds was gone, off on some quest of her own with her newfound power of the Well of Sorrows, though she promised Errol she would attempt to discover a way to turn her fully human and that she would return periodically to check on her Eluvian.

Blackwall left only a few days after the victory party, and several weeks later they received a raven bearing the news that he'd survived his Joining and was now officially a Grey Warden.

It wasn't many days after the party that Cullen moved out of his room above his office and into Errol's quarters. Skyhold was abuzz with scandal — they weren't wed! — but Errol insisted that, considering she had just saved the world with her magic glowing hand and was personal friends with the Divine and the former Right Hand of the Divine and new leader of the Seekers, that living in sin was the least she deserved. Cullen merely silenced any talk in his vicinity with a signature glower, though nothing could dispel the looming threat of Varric's book.

Errol finally cornered Varric in the tavern one night. He was drinking alone and scribbling by the fire, the beer almost an afterthought. He would gaze into space for a minute or two, chewing on the end of his pen, then dip it into ink and write furiously, his words little more than blots on the page.

"So no writer's block, I take it."

He jumped when she sat down next to him. "Don't you know it's bad luck to interrupt a writer when he's working?" he groused, finally taking a gulp of lukewarm beer.

"Oh boo hoo," Errol said, sipping her mead daintily. "I'm here because I have a proposition for you, Tethras."

Varric tried and failed not to look interested. He pushed his papers to the side and crossed his arms. "The great Inquisitor has a proposition for little old me? I'm flattered. Do go on."

Errol leveled him with the flat look she usually reserved for card games. "You're going to take out everything we discussed—"

"Aw, this again? I told you, writer's prerogative!" Varric shook his head. "If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, never trust a Tevinter—"

"Take out what we discussed," Errol interrupted him, "and I'll provide you with exclusive content you'd never get otherwise."

Varric stopped what he was saying and leaned forward, steepling his hands together. "All right, you've got my interest. What kind of content are we talking about?"

"Information about my world. All of its stories. History. Culture. Technology. Hundreds upon hundreds of stories on all topics. Anything and everything. You've got a fountain of knowledge right here, just waiting to tell you about a whole universe you could never even imagine. So." She rested her chin on her knuckles and smiled slightly. "Do we have a deal?"

Varric appeared deep in thought. "I have to put _something_ in," he finally said. "The masses must be appeased."

Errol _hmphed_. "You can note that the relationship exists."

"How about wrapped in a passionate embrace, gently fading away just as the good stuff starts."

"One kiss."

"Four, with tongue."

"Two, no tongue, and you have to write something embarrassing about Dorian and Iron Bull. That's my final offer."

He appraised her, then held out his hand. "You drive a hard bargain, Sunshine. Consider my pen restrained." They shook, and he grinned, devious. "Now what exactly should I write about our favorite Sparkler, hmmm? I've got a couple ideas already…"

* * *

Errol heard the drag of his footsteps coming up the stairs before he appeared. "Long day?" she asked without turning around, sweeping her hair into a knot on top of her head.

When Cullen didn't answer she turned to find him standing at the top of the steps, his eyes moving from her sheer robe to the steaming tub set up in the corner, the top of the water already slick with oils. He shook himself out of his thoughts and began to remove his armor. "Even after the battle is ended the work never ceases. How was your day?"

"Orlesians," Errol said shortly, walking to the bath and testing the heat of the water with her fingertips. He winced in sympathy as he worked on the clasps of his bracers.

"Ah."

"The good news is I have time for one last trip to close some nearby rifts before Leliana's confirmation as Divine," she said, slipping the robe from her shoulders and sinking into the blissfully hot water. She began to scrub her toes with a bar of jasmine-scented soap from Val Royeaux. "I still can't believe I have to stand up and praise the Chantry, of all things."

"Just keep reminding yourself that Leliana could still have you murdered at any moment," he said, only half-teasing, his attention on one particularly difficult buckle. "As for the rifts, you don't mean to tell me you're leaving tomorrow?"

"It's only for a few days. I figured I'd give myself the night off. Care to join me?"

The buckle finally released, and Cullen looked up. His pupils dilated slightly at the sight of her, one leg stretched out of the bath as she worked soap over her calf. "I— yes, I believe I would."

Errol stifled a giggle as he shucked off the rest of his armor with alarming speed, his shirt, breeches and smalls soon following. She shifted forward and a moment later his familiar weight settled in behind her, sloshing the water almost to the brim.

"Mmm," she hummed, leaning back against his chest and handing him the soap. "That's much better. Wash me please?"

"As my lady commands," he said, his voice a low rumble in her ear, and soon she felt the soap sweep down her arms and around her breasts, until they were covered in white foam.

Errol practically purred, melting into him. "By the way, our new Spymaster arrived today."

"I received notice he arrived but didn't have time for a formal greeting. I heard he traveled with Leliana during the Blight. How did you find him?"

"Very… charming?"

"You say that with such sincerity."

"I don't really know how to feel. He's a former Antivan Crow who tried to seduce me three times within the first ten minutes of meeting me, and yet I still like him. It's unnerving."

Cullen choked a little and turned it into a laugh. "Leliana did recommend him personally."

"The Blight certainly brings people together."

There was quiet for a moment as he continued to work diligently across her shoulders. Then she twisted to look at him, a grin on her face. "Oh, I almost forgot! I had a little conversation with our resident writer. Victory is ours."

Cullen chuckled as he gently moved her forward so that he could wash her back. He had never in his life laughed as much before he met her. "What did you offer him?"

"All the plagiarism he could ever want. Stories from my world. He'll never have to come up with another unique idea again."

"Doesn't that sounds a little…"

"Wrong? They're not doing anyone any good here, and if it keeps him out of our private business, I'm inclined to let him have his fame."

Errol took the soap from him and turned around, so that she was on her knees, and began lathering his chest. He said nothing about it, just closed his eyes, settled back, and let her work him over. "You should have asked for a cut of any books that come from ideas you give him."

"Oh, I will. Once the Inquisition's story is out and published. How does ten percent sound?"

"He'll make it five."

"I'll make it seven."

Cullen cracked his eyes open to smile lazily at her. "You should have been a rogue," he mused.

Errol leaned forward and kissed him, her hand tracing him lightly under the water. "You should be in bed," she murmured. "You've been hard since you got in the bath."

He bucked as she grasped him fully, her hand slippery with soap. "I'm not sure I'll make it to the bed if you keep doing that, love," he gasped as she pumped him.

"Mmm, maybe I've changed my mind," she said, nipping at his neck. "You're so tense, and this water is so warm…" She increased the pressure and pace and he groaned, his head falling back. "It's nice to see you just relax."

She added more slick suds to her fingers and then used both hands, alternating pressure, rolling one palm along his sensitive head while she stroked, then using her thumbs to run firm lines along the underside of him. In minutes he was thrusting in her hands, his knuckles clenched white around the edge of the tub, his voice a rough mixture of hers and the Maker's name as he came.

Afterwards he kissed her, his whole body languid, and they slipped from the water.

He was quiet for a few minutes, content to just be near her, but finally he spoke.

"So what comes next?" he asked, watching Errol as she sat on her knees next to him on the bed and combed through her tangled, wet hair. He idly wiped water away with a towel as it dripped down her bare back.

"What do you mean?"

"The Inquisition will always be here, even after the rifts are closed. There's no denying that now, especially not with our military and connections to Celene, Briala's elves, and the new Divine. Everyone seems to have an idea of where they'll go from here but I find myself at a loss, with the exception that I want it to be with you."

Errol was silent for a moment as she brushed. "I… don't know," she confessed, working on a particularly difficult tangle as a way to not look him in the face. "I'm still hoping there's a way to make me fully human, I still believe there must be a way, especially with someone like Morrigan and the Well of Sorrows on our side, but even if I can become mortal…"

She sighed and took the towel from his hands, draping it over her shoulders and turning to face him. It was still hard to meet his eyes. "Cullen, I don't know what kind of life I'll be able to lead. I likely won't be a mage anymore, my power is rooted in my being a spirit, and once that's gone my connection to the Fade will likely go as well. Maybe the Anchor will vanish - I'll have to wait until all the Fade rifts are closed to even try, and you know there are so many small rifts left it could take two years to close them all. And maybe I won't ever be able to become human. And even if I can, with everything that's happened, there's a strong chance I won't be able to… give you children. I just don't see this ending with us living out our days on a little farmhouse somewhere being happy." She bowed her head, feeling stripped bare to the core, made even worse by the fact that she was still naked. "I'm sorry."

Cullen brought his hand around to the back of her head and pulled her in so that he could press a kiss to her forehead. "Errol, look at me." She met his eyes, tentatively "Do I look like the kind of man who would be happy settling down in a farmhouse somewhere, or even in a castle? I'm not meant for idle hands or tilling land. I'm a soldier, and I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that. Any hope for a different future for me was killed a long time ago. You consider yourself broken, but most women would find me the broken one."

A protest was immediately on her lips. "Don't you ever say—"

"Then don't you either. Neither of us are exactly… typical, but that's why we work together. We bring out each other's strengths."

"And… not having a family doesn't bother you?"

He sighed and shifted so that she was in his lap, his fingers idly stroking her smooth ropes of wet hair. "I can't deny the thought has crossed my mind, but as we just said, the future is uncertain. Who's to say what will happen if you're made mortal? And if we can't have our own, there are plenty of parentless children who need love. Or it could just be the two of us. It's something we'll consider once this has all settled down. I assure you, I'm not opposed to the idea, but not desperate, either. We lead a difficult life. I'm not even certain it would be wise to bring children into it. Plus, isn't it a little early for this conversation? I haven't even— I mean—" He blushed, looking away, words clearly on the tip of his tongue.

"Don't," Errol said, and at his pained look she kissed his jaw to soften the blow. "If you're thinking about it, if that's what you want—"

"I do," he said, his voice low. "Errol—"

"I want you to ask me when I'm human," she said, interrupting him again. She laced their fingers together and raised his hand to her heart, holding it there. "Really here, really human. No chance I'll go full-spirit, no chance I'll get pulled back to my world. I want to be here, with you, and celebrate with all of our friends in the sun. I don't want us to be built on a foundation of lies." She laughed a little, sadly. "Listen to me. A foundation of lies. Jesus Andraste, when did I get so damn melodramatic?"

He brought their entwined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "I'll wait, then, until that day comes."

"Thank you."

"But if asked, I mean— you don't have to— but if I _did__—"_

"Of course I'd say yes," Errol said, leaning in to nuzzle him. "My love, my Commander."

She felt his small sigh of relief as he kissed her, his lips gentle and wondering, like the question had already been asked. When they broke apart she rested her forehead against his and traced his jaw with her fingertips.

"I fear… that something bad is on the horizon. I can feel it inside of me, like this is the eye of the storm and we're celebrating victory too early. Something's wrong, I can feel it."

"Whatever it is, we'll face it together," he said. "As always."

_I hope so_, she thought, but all she said was, "yes," and kissed him again, and let him help her forget about her fear for another night.

For a time, they had their frail peace, despite rifts to close, nobility to entertain, a Divine to confirm, mages and templars to reign in, and an Inquisition to run.

But three months after their victory, amid creeping whispers of dissension among the Grey Warden ranks, Weisshaupt went silent, and all news from Blackwall and Alistair stopped. Since the Hero of Ferelden was still stubbornly refusing to return until she completed her secret quest, Errol conferred with her remaining advisors and decided to go investigate — if anyone would be allowed entrance into the Grey Warden fortress it was the Inquisitor and personal friend to current Warden-Commander Alistair.

She was just choosing her team for the journey when, one night, she dreamed once more of Haven.


	32. Dreams of Beginnings

**Chapter 31: Dreams of Beginnings**

She's in Haven, and the Breach is back in the sky, a vortex of shattering green. The snow is falling gently. Tents are set up in a ragged line along the front of the Chantry walls, and the Inquisition sign has been freshly nailed to the front door. Back to the beginning. Somehow she misses it, like no matter how awful it all was she would go back and do it all over again, just for the beautiful, terrible sense of purpose.

"You were so innocent when you came to us," his voice says. "Fumbling through everything, cursing up a storm, trying to be so brave when you couldn't even hold a staff to your back. Look how far you've come, what you've done. You should be proud."

She turns to him. "I am."

"Yet you're sad."

"I can be both."

"Hm."

She studies him. He's in the same robes he always wears in the Fade, only now they seem even more regal, softer, the colors richer. His eyes are radiant. "Where did you go?"

"An important task had to be done." He holds her gaze. "I told you I would return."

She holds his real name on her tongue. "Solas…"

A smile quirks the corner of his mouth. "You know my name now, and yet you continue to call me that?"

"So it's true?" She's almost hopeful he will say no, that's it's all been a big misunderstanding.

"Would you like a pretty lie?"

She exhales softly. "No."

"Then you know the answer."

She draws closer to him and he watches her, very still, like any sudden movement might spook her. "What do you want me to call you?" she asks, her boots silent in the snow, and it's only now that she realizes she's human in the Fade with him for the first time, in her usual daytime gear, her hair pulled back, the way she would envision herself. "You're Fen'Harel but you're Solas too, aren't you? You're Pride."

He laughs a little at that. "I am, aren't I." They're close enough to touch, now. His gaze is warm. "You may still call me Solas. I became fond of the name." A pause. "You're less… violent than I thought you'd be."

If this was the past and he was just Solas, she would have thwacked him on the arm for that. Instead she just huffs. "I don't react to everything with violence, you know!"

"You're correct. Only most things."

She bites the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling. "I've had a while to work it through in my head. Actually, I feel pretty stupid for not figuring it out sooner. Maybe not that you were this exact god, but that you were A God. You sure talked about immortality a lot for a hobo apostate."

"Ah, well," he says, "with you I could be more of myself than with anyone. We each had our secrets, though now they are laid bare."

She shivers as the wind picks up. It's cold here, like the real Haven would be, if it wasn't buried under an avalanche. "So that's it, then? That's what you wanted?"

"What do you think I wanted?"

"Your tombstone, in the Fade. It said 'Dying Alone.' You wouldn't have to with me, if I were a spirit. _Immortal, kin to Gods_, you said. You wanted me to be like you."

He steps closer, and she can feel his warmth. He burns brighter than ever before. "You are like me, though you refuse to see it." He tilts his head. "Or you see it and are too afraid to acknowledge it."

She looks away from him, and bites her lip, thinking. "All roads lead to shitty destinations," she says softly.

He looks disheartened. "Am I so bad?" He seems to think about touching her shoulder but doesn't. "Do you believe Morrigan's whispers, the Dalish tales they tell themselves like children in the dark, afraid of the Wolf under their beds?"

She shakes her head. "No. I heard what you said in the Temple, what little you said. I searched out what I could in the Fade by myself. I don't know all the details but I know you're no brutal, mad, dread beast come to destroy your kin for no reason." He is looking at her oddly and she narrows her eyes. "What?"

"You even speak like one of us now. What three years does to a person. When you first came you had no lilt to your speech; you could not speak but for cursing or using a reference no one could understand. Now you sound… like me."

"Oh, don't sound so self congratulatory," she snaps. "It's not all you."

"It's a little me."

She smiles, for an instant, then it fades. "Everything was so uncomplicated in the beginning," she says in a mournful voice. "When it was just fighting to stay alive. Before I knew what I was. Believing I was mortal was wonderful." She looks at her hands. "I never guessed I would ever want to grow old."

He takes her cold hands in his very warm ones. "It's overrated," he says quietly.

Errol looks up at him, at his eyes that are both familiar and alien, calming and too-bright. "Why are you here?"

"I made a promise to you. I am here to make good on that promise."

"A promise?"

"I cannot send you home," he says, and she gasps a little, but he doesn't let go of her hands. "Not that I think you would go now if you could return. But you asked — you wanted a way to say goodbye. I can give you that."

"You can?" she breathes. It seems too good to be true. She frowns and her voice flattens. "It seems too good to be true."

He laughs and drops her hands. "Another remnant of three years spent with me by your side - a healthily cultivated sense of suspicion. But I assure you, I speak the truth. I've found one final crack in the Fade, a small break between realities that I could use to send just a piece of you through for a few minutes, long enough to say your goodbyes. Once you returned I would seal it, and all paths to your world will be gone." When she doesn't answer his voice drops. "I have done you great wrongs in these past years, Errol Kerr. Let me do this for you. Let me give you this one thing."

All paths, he said. Errol chews on her lip. He doesn't know, then, about the Eluvian, and for some reason that comforts her. There is at least one thing that she knows that he doesn't.

"Okay," she says. "How do we do this?"

"Wake immediately," he says. "It will be just past midnight. Leave Skyhold and head East. Let no one see you. I will meet you. This won't take long; you will return before morning."

"I have to go now? Alone? Just like that?"

"And what would you tell them, Inquisitor?" he asks, using her title almost scornfully. "That you must leave to meet with the Dread Wolf because you are a spirit and only he can send a piece of you home to where your true body lies?"

"…you have a point."

"I always do." She rolls her eyes and makes a mocking gesture in his direction. He sniffs. "I'll pretend I didn't see that." He straightens his shoulders. "Go, Inquisitor, or the sun will steal away your chance. Wake. It's time."

* * *

Errol awoke suddenly, her eyes flying open in the darkness. Cullen was sound asleep, his arm across her stomach. She laid there for a few moments, heart beating fast, and assessed the situation.

Was she really going to do this? Sneak out like a thief in the night to meet with the lying elven god who had abandoned them months ago? Trust him to really send only a piece of her home to see her family? Trust that his intentions were pure? She remembered the last time she had seen him, after the final battle, when he pressed a kiss to her bloody lips. What was his plan? Would he lock her away in her homeworld, never to return here? No, what good would that do him? She was no threat to him, she never had been. If anything, he was a threat to her - being a god, he could likely just kill her if he so desired, which he didn't or he would have, a hundred times over. Instead he had pursued her like a wolf stalking prey, until the end, when he had given up and become gentle again in the face of their impending deaths. Maybe he did merely mean to make up for his betrayal. Maybe he wanted to give her this. Was she willing to take that risk?

She thought of her family, waiting for an answer after all of these years. Three years and they still hadn't taken her off of life support. Three years of waiting, hoping. How could she let them think she was just wasting away? How could she be that cruel to them? If she could offer them some hope, some solace, she had to take that chance. She loved them more than anything and she had abandoned them the moment she decided to never return. They mourned a girl who was not dead. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. It was cruel and selfish and she couldn't live with herself knowing that she had the chance to give them peace and didn't take it.

Carefully, Errol eased herself out of Cullen's grip and slid from the bed. She dressed quickly and quietly, strapping an emergency pack to her back.

Errol pressed a soft kiss to the shell of his ear. "I'll be back soon." She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. "I love you."

She left then, staff in hand, and made herself not look back.

Skyhold was silent at that time of night. Errol cast a small invisibility spell so that the night guards wouldn't notice her as she crept through the shadows of the Great Hall and then slipped outside and headed down toward the small door next to the locked and guarded gate. Once she was safely out of Skyhold she breathed a sigh of relief, but even before she lifted the invisibility spell a hand touched her shoulder.

"I'm coming with you."

She spun around to see Cole standing there, his traveling clothing black as night. She grabbed his wrist and dragged him with her as she spoke so the tower's guards wouldn't see him.

"No, you're not," she hissed. "You're going to sneak back inside the moment I'm out of sight."

"I know what you're going to do," he said. "I can see into thoughts, into dreams. I'm not human yet. This is dangerous. You shouldn't go, but I feel the pain. The waiting, wondering, whispering, wailing, the guilt piling up, have I left them there with my corpse at their feet?"

"Cole—"

"I'm coming," he said again, firmly. "You can't trust him, not anymore. I saw inside your head, I know what he is now. The Wolf, the Betrayer. He hungers for you. He wants to swallow you whole. I won't let him."

Errol hesitated, then nodded. It would be good to have someone that she trusted watching out for her. She dropped his wrist. "Okay, Cole. Thank you."

He fell into step next to her. "I still think you shouldn't go. They won't understand. It won't help their pain. Their pain will never be healed, unless you are with them again."

"I know," she said, sighing softly. "But they're my family. I have to try. I've put them through so much. Maybe it's selfish - maybe it's more about healing my pain."

"That's never selfish," he said.

She merely took his hand. "Hold tight, I'm going to Fade-step now. We'll be there in a moment."

He twined his fingers in hers. "I won't let you go."

His words, as always, reassured her. "I know. Thank you."

Errol took a deep breath, and a moment later the place where they stood was empty, only the faint movement of the grass and the spark of magic in the air marking that they were ever there at all.

* * *

Cullen woke suddenly and with the urgent feeling that something was wrong. Instinctively he reached for Errol's side of the bed, only to find it cold. He was up in an instant and lighting a candle, and moments later he was struggling into pants and a loose shirt and racing down the stairs toward Cassandra's room.

The Seeker opened the door after one long minute of pounding, her eyes bleary. "By the Maker, Cullen, what is the matter? Are we under attack?"

"Errol is gone," he said, and she immediately looked more alert.

"You are sure of this?"

"Her armor, staff, and emergency pack are gone. She was there when we went to sleep. There is no reason to— Cassandra, we can check with the guards but I know her abilities, if she wanted to leave she would not be spotted. For some reason she has managed to leave Skyhold in the middle of the night, alone."

"This does not bode well," Cassandra agreed. "Wake Varric and Dorian — Dorian should know her magic well enough to track her. We'll leave as soon as possible." She surveyed him. "Armor as well, Commander."

Cullen was too focused to even blush at her comment. He just nodded and turned on his heel, a hundred questions running through his head, the foremost ones so loud they nearly drowned the others out.

Why would she leave him in the middle of the night, and where was she going?

* * *

Now that she saw him up close, Errol knew he was definitely not the same Solas she had seen three months ago.

His power was not only greater, but different. The song was not the same, and neither was the scent; it rolled off of him in waves, mixed and blended, the chorus heady and intoxicating but all wrong.

"Solas," she breathed, dropping Cole's hand and stepping forward into the forest clearing. "What have you done?"

He narrowed his eyes at Cole and then dismissed him, focusing fully on Errol. "Nothing of import. I believe I told you to come alone."

"He wanted to help."

"His endless tune."

Errol frowned. "What have you done?" she repeated, and started to reach out, then changed her mind, her hand falling to her side. Solas watched the motion with something akin to disappointment on his face.

"I would have told you, if you were standing by my side as an equal. I would share my secrets with that Errol, shining and strong. But you've made your choice, and now I must make mine. I cannot tell you all when you might use that against me, when you'd go running off to spill everything I say to the Inquisition."

She cocked her head. "Could I do that? I couldn't even speak your name before."

"Little magics that won't hold forever, and won't hold for much. A name, a location… that's all." He approached her slowly, as if expecting her to back away. She didn't, and he bent his head so that his breath ghosted over her ear. "You deny me and still desire all of my secrets. You can't have everything."

Errol felt a pang of something in her stomach. She wasn't sure what it was. Anxiety? Nerves? It couldn't be regret. It was too late for that. "I suppose I can't," she said softly. "What do I do now?"

It seemed an open question, like she was asking him for everything: What do I do now that Corypheus is gone? What do I do now that life goes on? What do I do now that you're gone? What do I do now that I'm an unaging spirit among humans? What do I do now without a purpose?

He simply straightened, put his hands behind his back, and said: "Lie down and close your eyes, as if you were going to sleep. Clear your mind. Think of nothing. Be still. There will be pain, and for that I apologize."

Errol hesitated, then slowly lowered herself and settled down in the soft ferns. "Pain? Why?"

"I can only send a small piece of you - if I send all of you I'll risk you becoming trapped in that body permanently. Only a fraction of your self, your consciousness, just enough for a few moments to say goodbye." He paused. "I warn you, there might be a price, just as there was with the Well, just as there always is when tampering with unknown magics. I don't know how this will affect your soul. Hopefully not at all. But you deserve the warning. Nothing is without its dangers."

Errol nodded and tried to slow her breathing, but her heart was beating erratically again. He crouched over her, his familiar face simultaneously soothing and frightening. "Shhh," he said, stroking her hair. "It will be over soon. I am doing this for you. You do not have to fear me, Errol. You never have before. You know I would not hurt you."

She looked into his blue eyes and slowly nodded, feeling her heart rate slow. She knew that. He was still Solas. Fucked up and a god, but still Solas. He'd saved her too many times to kill her now.

He rested his hand on her forehead. "Close your eyes," he instructed her, and she did so. Cole prowled restless on the edge of her consciousness, and his presence calmed her.

"Good," Solas crooned. "Very good. Now, be still."

She felt him reach out with his magic, that strange blended magic that felt like smoke and earth and wolf, and then felt the small shattered crack in the Fade, green and glowing, and the pulling pulling pulling, pullingpullingpulling, and the _break_—

Pain seared through her very soul as a piece of her snapped away and went spiraling through the crack, through the tiniest breach and back to a human body.

Unbeknownst to Errol, the Wolf followed just behind.


	33. Rage

**Chapter 32: Rage**

At first, all she heard was the beeping, soft and steady. Then the cold, the sharp smell of antiseptic.

_That _was a smell she would never smell there. _It worked,_ she thought hazily. _The mad bastard did it. I can't believe it._

The light crept in through her crusty eyelids. She forced them open, wincing in the now-unfamiliar florescent sterility. A crucifix hung across from her on a white hospital wall. Outside, the cherry blossoms blew in the breeze. _Spring again? My God. How long have I been__…__?_

She turned her head, just a little, and they were there, incredibly: her mother, father, and brother, standing by the window, their heads bowed together as they whispered amongst themselves. _My family. Still here after all of this time. Was today to be the day, then? Did I catch them just in time? Thank the Maker._

God and the Maker, thought so close together as to be intertwined. Over time, their lexicon had crept in, even though she still had the tendency to recite her own blasphemies when upset. The thought almost made her smile, even though her throat was clogged with tears.

"Errol!"

Her mother was the first to look up and see her, and her shrill cry was music to her ears. Suddenly they were on her, tears streaming down their faces, her mother clutching her hand, her father calling for a doctor.

Errol opened her mouth, just a little. Her lips were cracked and dry, her throat sore. "Mommy?"

"Shhh, it's okay, sweetie, we're here for you," her mother said, her eyes, green as Errol's own, shining with tears.

"It's a miracle," her father whispered reverently.

Errol licked her lips. She was so weak, only a small part of her here, just enough to keep her conscious, not too much to lock her once again into this body. At least that's what Solas had said. "What happened?"

"No one knows," her mother said, brushing hair from her forehead. "They found you in the river. They said you were… that you'd never…"

"They said you were brain dead," her younger brother said brashly, but his voice shook. She smiled a little.

"Hi, Jerk."

"Three days," her mother continued tremulously. "Three days just waiting here, praying, hoping against hope, and now—"

"What do you mean three days?" Errol asked sharply. "Mama, it's been over _three years_."

Her family stared at her like she was crazy. "Sweetie, what do you mean?" her father asked.

"Maybe it's the knock on the head," her mother said in a hushed voice.

"There's no way—" Errol started.

"Is it so hard to fathom that time might flow differently in two such different places?" The voice was strange, but the cadence familiar. Errol turned her head a bit, and saw a man enter the room.

He wore a white doctor's coat and had slightly frizzy blonde hair and a large nose. He looked like just a man, and felt like just a man. Here, like this, Errol could feel nothing. She had forgotten what it was like, to feel nothing, to live in a world where there was nothing beyond the physical. The absence hurt like a severed limb.

Still, she knew it was him.

"Do what you came to do," Solas said.

"You're here? How? I thought you couldn't — are you— are you _possessing _him? Can you do that?" Errol asked, trying to sit up and failing. She was so weak. He waved one hand as if to brush the question away.

"It is irrelevant, and we have little time. Do what you came to do."

"Doctor, what are you saying?" Errol's mother asked, rising from her chair.

"I'd like to know what's going on," her father demanded.

"They're saying it's only been three days," Errol said. "Did you know?"

Solas sighed. "I had suspicions that it might be a possibility, but nothing concrete. Still, this changes nothing."

"This changes everything! I came because I thought it was my last chance, because I thought they would cut the cord after all this time. But if it's only been three days, then I might—"

"Might what? Come back to say hello from time to time and risk being trapped here without my guidance? Or come back after your lover dies in our world in a vain attempt to escape, only to discover more misery and lose a piece of yourself you won't be able to regain? You play a dangerous game, and it is time to end it. Do what you came to do, and end this. Free yourself."

"What is going on?" her mother asked, stepping between her and the doctor. "This is ridiculous. I'm calling security."

"Mama." Errol managed the strength to catch her hand. "Mama, please, I'm sorry."

Her parents both turned to her, confusion clear on their faces. She beckoned her brother over from the shadows of the far side of the room, and the bed shifted as he sat at the foot of it. She reached out and took her father's hand too, and felt the weight of its realness.

_I am real here, _she realized. _In a way I never will be again. I am flesh and blood, truly. No one has to linger to make them forget. _Her resolve weakened. _No one will turn on me if they realize the truth. No one relies on me to save them. No one tries to make me something that I'm not, no one tries to shape me to their will. But—_

She thought of Cullen, who she loved so dearly, who she had left like a thief in the night after she promised she would stay. It was a betrayal she wasn't sure he was going to get over quickly, even if she returned as whole - or unwhole - as she had ever been.

"Errol," Solas warned. "Time is short."

"I love you," she said to her family. "That's all I ever wanted to say. I love you. So much has happened. I know it seems crazy, like I've just been lying here dying but I've been places, done things you wouldn't believe. Great things. Terrible things."

"Sweetie," her mother said, touching her forehead. "You're burning up. You're sick. Let us get another doctor in here."

"No, don't rush off," she begged. "Let me have this. Let me tell you that — it's okay. You don't have to worry about me. Don't worry. I'm okay. I love you. I'm just not here anymore. Be happy. I was going to tell you to let me go, but it's only been three days. I can live a lifetime in a few more. Maybe I'll come home. Let me think."

"I'm sorry," Solas said, near her head now, and he did sound truly sorry. "But I can't have you tethered to this place any longer. I have too many plans. It's holding you back. It's holding _everything _back."

She looked at him, suddenly fearful. "You said—"

"I said you would get to say your goodbyes. You did that. My part of the bargain is complete." He seemed sad. "I told you there would be a price. I do this for your own good. I have known it from the start. Your humanity is a chain that must be broken for something greater to arise."

From the pocket of his lab coat he produced a knife, and before anyone could move he plunged it into her neck. Errol felt it, cold, cold, biting into her skin like teeth, before everything snapped sharp as glass and she went spiraling back down, down down down into the Ferelden woods.

She woke with a gasp, and the world shifted, insubstantial, her form light as air, too mutable, unfixed, driftwood torn from a ship and tossed in the ocean during a storm. Cutting the cord had changed something, made her less than she was. Far less. _So he lied about that, too._

It was too much. Pain, betrayal, rage, fear. The worst was the loss: loss of purpose, loss of self, loss of body, loss of humanity, loss of family, loss of hope, loss of faith. She couldn't stay, couldn't leave, couldn't concentrate, couldn't _be_.

"Control yourself!" he shouted. His mark was still on her neck, fixed, burning, pulling, demanding. _Get it off me, get it off! S_he hated him in that moment. Couldn't believe that she had ever felt another way about him, couldn't believe that she had almost —

_Fear, hate, betrayal, loss, pain, rage._

"Errol, no, fix your form, you cannot lose yourself, not now!"

_You did this to me!_

She tore at the sky. She tore at herself, her weak human figure. She tore at _everything._

When Cassandra, Cullen, and the others came upon the battle, they found no trace of her. All they found was him, a rift, and a demon.

* * *

She couldn't think. She wasn't even sure she was a She anymore. It wasn't anything. There wasn't anything but the Rage. The heat, the fire, the burning in Its lungs. It felt good, it gave It a purpose, a presence, filled the void, chased out the sadness and the hurt and the questions. Now there was only fire and burning and red red red hate hate hate burn burn burn rage rage rage rageragerage.

_You did this to me! _

It didn't remember who did what, who said that, felt that. It didn't remember anything before the soothing balm of fire, of Rage. It felt so good, to be coated in flames, to be so big, to be a force of destruction. It would destroy - that was Its purpose. To lash out and burn. To rampage. To fill things with beautiful fire so they burned bright like the insides of It.

Her. It. Which was it?

_Errol, Errol can you hear me?_

One of the weak creatures was talking. Rage tore with fire but the creature danced away. There was a door there as well, a portal to the world that always changed - no, It didn't want to go there, It wanted to stay here and burn, things didn't burn as brilliantly there!

There were others now, too, fighting, trying to hurt It. It laughed. They could try. It was bigger and harder and more than they could be. It would crush them to cinders and embers and coals.

Something was trying to get inside Its head. It spun around, snarling. _Leave, leave!_

_No, Errol, it__'__s me, Cole, _the voice said. _You__'__re Errol, the Owl, our Owl, our friend, and we love you. _

_No! Not Errol, no, the girl that failed, that trusted, the weak little girl, she's gone, she's all burned up, she Rage now, she's an It, a thing that burns! Get out!_

_We love you! _that infuriating voice continued. _You're hurt because you loved too much and that made you misstep. You're still you, always you, always the Owl, the girl that saved the world, saved us all. Human, human, human, not Rage, not a demon, never a demon. The Wolf can take your flesh but not your humanity, not your heart, not your love. Look at what you're doing, you are not fire, you are not hate. You are love. You are made of love. Please, Errol, Errol Errol Errol Errol Errol Errol look at him, just look at him._

She It She It She It Rage Errol RageErrolRageErrolSheItShe looked at the humans the elf the God the Betrayer the Wolf the spirit the dwarf the mage the Lion and the Lion looked back at her and he knew, he knew and there was horror in his eyes but it wasn't horror, it wasn't horror at what she was it was fear, not of what she was but fear _for_ her, the love but how could he love the Rage the fire no one could love her no one could love the fire the demon the thing the monster no one could love but the Lion—

The Lion was holding them back, the Lion was telling them not to fight, the Lion was shouting, his sword was drawn but it wasn't pointed at her, Errol, Rage, it wasn't pointed at her, it was keeping them back, it was pointed at him, the Wolf, The Dread Wolf, He Who Hunts Alone, He Who—

_You did this to me!_

Errol was Rage, and Rage swept the Wolf into the rift, with one parting thought to Compassion.

_Make them forget. All but the Lion. Make them forget this one last time._

Then the rift closed, and the flames dripped off of her like so much blood, and she was She again, the Owl and the Wolf in the Fade.

* * *

"You pulled yourself back. I am in awe."

Errol took a deep breath, her eyes closed. She still felt painted red, but her skin held. Ten fingers, ten toes. Hair that was singed off grew back. Crimson eyes turned green, skin became skin again, pale and unburnt. Her clothing reformed. Battle gear, but no staff. She didn't need it anymore.

She was no longer human, but she was not a demon. She would never let herself be a demon again.

She opened her eyes, and her voice was steady. "I will not let you change me."

He was looking at her like she was an interesting specimen under a microscope. "I have done nothing but free you from your chains. You are as you were meant to be."

Errol took another calming breath, but the Rage was still there, under her skin. She could be angry without letting it consume her, but it was difficult. "You're a liar."

He inclined his head. "True. But I do not lie about this."

"You planned this from the beginning." He said nothing so she continued, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "The elven word. It means untether. You meant it about me, didn't you? About this? You had me carry it to you from the future. You made me an agent in my own destruction."

"Your _destruction_?" he snarled, approaching her so quickly she had no time to back away. He grabbed her wrist. "Is that truly what you think this is, even now, even after the power you just displayed? Do you have any idea the massive willpower it takes to pull yourself back from the brink as you just did? You became a demon and made yourself whole again — you are— you can be anything, Errol, _anything_, I did that for you!"

She jerked her arm away. "You do nothing for anyone but yourself! You have ruined me! I'll never be able to return to the Inquisition now!"

He threw up his hands as if unable to deal with her. "You are forever, insufferably frustrating! It was not supposed to be like this!"

Errol balled her hands into fists, Rage once again licking at her skin. "What was it supposed to be like? Tell me, because I really want to know! What the fuck was it supposed to be like?"

"You were supposed to understand! You were supposed to be better than this! You were supposed to embrace what you are, what you could be, rejoice in your limitless potential, not crawl on your belly in the dirt crying out for mortality, a life that will only bring you stagnancy and death! You lived caged in fear and I have broken that cage! I did this for you because you would not do it for yourself! This was not a betrayal! I freed you!"

"I didn't ask for you to free me!"

"The creature born in a cage will not ask for freedom if it has never known it! It will cower in the dark unless dragged into the light!"

"That's what I am to you? A creature?"

He growled, actually growled like the wolf she knew he was, and stood so close to her she could feel his breath on her face. "Do not focus on semantics to derail the conversation! Whatever your feelings are about this the simple truth remains that you are correct: you cannot return to the Inquisition as you are. You are shifting, changing, growing, in ways you cannot yet control. You must come with me."

Errol pushed him. "You think you're so fucking brilliant," she hissed. "Trap me in an impossible situation so I'm forced to do what you want."

His voice became softer, more cajoling. He caught her hands, trapping them against his chest. "Just because this benefits me as well doesn't mean I'm not doing it for you."

She tried to pull away but he held her there with impossible strength. "Go. Fuck. Yourself."

"You have no choice."

"There is always a choice."

"You became a demon once," Fen'Harel said, in a voice that would be gentle if he wasn't still holding her in a viselike grip. "You could become one again. A demon with the power of the Anchor. You know as well as I do that you cannot let that happen. I am the only one with the knowledge to stop it. Hate me if you must, but you need me."

Errol snarled at him like an animal and bared her teeth. "Let me say this again, louder in case you didn't hear it the first time: GO. FUCK. YOURSELF."

She finally succeed in wrenching herself away from him. He looked at her and the emotions flickered through his eyes so quickly they were difficult to make out: hurt, worried, angry, calculating. They settled on determined as his gaze found the crux of her neck and shoulder. "You will change your mind. You are marked by me. Our destines are bound together."

She touched her neck, cringing as she felt the magic flare. "So what, do you own me or something?"

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "I would never own anyone. I abhor slavery. You're under my protection."

"But you can find me whenever you want. And it will only get stronger as you get stronger."

"Yes."

"It'll make sneaking up on you rather difficult for me."

"You would not have to sneak up on me if you would just lay aside your foolish pride and come with me," he said, once again replacing his mask of infinite patience. "Why would you seek what is freely offered? Errol, your need of me is greater than your fear or your hate or your regret. And I need you, as well."

She wanted to lie to him, to say that she'll stay, to gain his trust and learn his secrets, to betray him for once. But he'd see right through her, she knew that. He was the master of lies and pulling strings, and anything less than true devotion would be sniffed out immediately.

_He wants to swallow you whole, _the memory of Cole whispered in her mind.

"What do you need me for?" she asked. "Can you tell me that?"

Fen'Harel sighed. "I told you once before you could be kin to Gods. I have opened that door — it's up to you if you choose to step through it. I am the only one who can guide you, make you great, make you new. The world is changing and soon we will not be the only ones with this power. I thought once that I would stand alone and die to make this come to pass. Now I know that need not be the case. With you by my side, I will bring forth a better world and live to shape it. You are angry, but once I explain, once you _understand_—"

Errol lifted her chin and shook her head in a slow, decisive _no_. "I gave you thousands of chances to explain over three years, thousands of chances for you to make me understand. You did nothing but lie and brutalize me behind my back. You stripped me of my body and my purpose and now of the ones I love."

"The ones who would turn on you. The ones you had to lie to."

"Do you know what brought me back, when I was a demon? Do you know how I was able to become me again, that massive willpower you spoke of?" Errol said every word carefully, driving it home, keeping her voice measured and clear. "It wasn't me. It was _him_. I looked into _his_ eyes and there was love even at my most monstrous. You have underestimated everyone from the start, Dread Wolf, myself most of all. Maybe if you had been open, maybe — but you lost your chance. I don't trust this new world of yours if you had to do so much to bend me to your will just so you could bring it about. Most of all, I don't trust you, and that means I have to stop you."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowed but almost smiling, teeth bared. "And how will you do that? I can sense you wherever you are."

"Very carefully, then."

She opened a rift with a pulse of her marked palm. Fen'Harel called from behind her, his voice like breath on the back of her neck, even though he was still standing away from her.

"I won't give up, Errol. I will not lose you."

She stepped through and turned to look at him, her once friend, now rival. "I was never yours to lose."

He made no move to stop her and met her gaze evenly, his back straight, his eyes clear and head held high with the bearing of someone who knew that they were right.

"Until we meet again, vhenan," he said, and Errol closed the rift without another word.


	34. A New Hunt

**Chapter 33: A New Hunt**

Cullen couldn't believe his eyes when he came upon them in the clearing.

At first, it almost seemed like a piece of their past, Solas and Cole battling a rage demon against the backdrop of a rift. But then he remembered that Solas had been gone for three months, and that Cole had been nowhere to be found that morning, and that they weren't so much as battling the rage demon as dancing with it, calling to it, tiring it out. It was larger than any rage demon he'd seen, and more incoherent, flame leaking from its fingertips as it roared out in agony.

He struggled to hear what Solas was saying. _"__Fix your form!__" _What did that mean?

And then Cole said it, so soft the whisper carried only to Cullen's ears, like it was meant for him. "_Errol, Errol, can you hear me?_"

His stomach lurched and his heart stopped. He thought, for a split second that stretched for a millennia, that he would die. The creature turned its red eyes on him and he wanted to disbelieve, wanted to fight it, wanted to search the woods for Errol's unconscious body, to believe that she was somewhere here, but no—

She was right in front of him.

"Attack!" He heard Cassandra's call as if from far away, and his body sprang into action before his mind could catch up. He flung himself in their path, his sword drawn.

"Stand down!" he yelled. "Solas is the one you want. Do not attack the demon!"

"Do you hear yourself, Curly?" Varric yelled. "Don't attack the giant rage demon that's currently rampaging over the forest?"

Cullen locked eyes with the dwarf and tried to give him a significant look. "Don't. Attack. The. Demon," he said, then mouthed her name. Varric paled.

"Oh, shit. Right. Well. Solas you say?"

"Will someone please explain to me what's going on?" Cassandra asked, exasperated.

"I would also care for an explanation," Dorian said. "Errol's magical trail led us here, but now it's gone. No, not gone, just… I can't explain it. It's here but not."

The demon roared and Cullen felt the heat of flames brush far too close to his face. He ducked and rolled, springing back to his feet.

"And what do you think, now, Commander?" Solas taunted, though his eyes were fixed on the demon. "How do you feel, seeing what lies beneath? For all of your pretty words, can you accept this?"

"You know _nothing!_" Cullen snarled.

Solas twirled his staff, his movements quick and precise, expertly diverting fire with ice. "Look then, if you will. See the truth you have been so steadfastly denying."

Cullen turned, and the demon locked eyes with him, its eyes the red unthinking rage of a monster, a beast.

_You made me hate myself_, the memory of Errol whispered in his head. _You told me I wasn__'__t human, you looked at me like I was a monster._

She wasn't a monster. Even now, he had to believe that. He loved her. Even Rage demon, mutated, destroy-the-world her.

Cullen refused to break the stare. He held his ground as she approached, snarling. He looked into her eyes, those reddened eyes, and dropped his sword. Dimly he heard Cassandra shouting at him, but he didn't move a muscle. He wasn't afraid. Errol wouldn't hurt him. He would never hurt her.

He loved her too much.

The Rage demon paused, and slowly the red in its eyes began to bleed back into green. Sanity returned to them for one brief instant. Then it turned away and with a sweep of its massive hand pulled Solas into the rift and they were gone, the rift sealed behind them.

The forest was silent as death. Dorian barely had time to sputter "What was _that?_" when Cole was there, whispering _"__forget_," and Cullen turned to see their eyes glazing over. He looked at Cole and the not-quite human boy regarded him carefully.

"She asked me not to make you forget. She said you had to remember." He cocked his head. "You're not afraid. Sad, but not afraid."

"Will she be okay?"

"She is herself again. She can control it now. She was lost. He cut her cord. He betrayed her. But she knows herself, and she won't lose that. Because of you. Now she has to face the Wolf."

Cullen found it suddenly hard to speak. "Will she come back?"

Cole crouched in the grass and ran his bony fingers through it, as if searching for something. "I don't know. We should return to Skyhold. There is nothing for us here anymore."

Cullen looked back at his dazed companions. "And the rest of them?"

"We searched but did not find her. Perhaps they will attempt to begin again later. You will have to deal with that. I've done what I can." He paused and took a deep breath, still combing through the grass. "She's angry. He wants her but he can't have her."

Cullen's eyebrows shot up. "Solas? Solas… wants her?"

Cole nodded. "You didn't know? You knew. You felt it, a writhing in the gut, a snake you couldn't name, couldn't displace. She chose you but he starved, craved, a Wolf famished, his meal just out of reach, and the need led us to here, now."

"Maker's breath. Had I known, truly known…" He ran a hand through his hair. "We should return to Skyhold."

"Yes." Cole finally stood and then something cold and wet with dew was in Cullen's hand and Cole was moving away again, back toward the mounts. Cullen opened his palm to see his coin, the sturdy chain that held it not just broken but melted, and with a spasm he clenched his hand around it again and brought it to his lips as Cassandra called out to him that it was time to leave.

* * *

Cullen couldn't sleep that night. He laid in their bed, the scent of her still heavy on their sheets, and couldn't shake the feeling that at any moment she would walk into view and curl up next to him, warm and safe.

He put his hands over his face, and they were shaking. He hadn't felt this undone since the first stages of lyrium withdrawl. He'd barely eaten, and his whole body was thrumming with tension and exhaustion. Where was she? _What _was she? Would she return, and could she return? If only he could speak to her, reassure himself of her safety…

With a sigh he dropped his hands from his face and she was there, perched next to him on the bed. The mattress hadn't even moved, like she weighed nothing.

"Hi," she said, softly, sadly. He sucked in a breath and instinctively jerked away, wondering if he had fallen asleep, if this was the Fade, a demon in her form.

She shook her head. "You're awake. I'm not a demon. Not anymore." Something changed, and now the bed dipped, as if she suddenly had weight. "Forgot about that part," she said. "So many things to remember. Am I breathing? Heart too. Gotta keep that going. It's a lot to think about, now. Not automatic anymore."

He sat up warily. "Errol?"

She nodded. "It's me. I promise. Are you— you're not afraid, are you?"

He reached out slowly and touched her. She felt real, if cool, her skin smooth and lacking in scars. "You're… here," he croaked. "Can I—"

She leaned in and he wrapped his arms around her. She felt too slight, like a breeze could blow her away, but after a moment she shifted and warmed and felt normal again. Her hands wrapped around his back and she tucked her chin into his chest, clinging to him fiercely.

"I can't believe you're not afraid," she said, almost whimpering. "I thought you'd hate me. Oh, _Cullen.__"_

"I've known what you are for too long to be afraid of you now," he murmured into her hair. "I came to terms with it a long time ago. You are Errol Kerr, forever and always Errol, spirit or human or anything." He pulled her tighter, clutched her to him. "Oh Errol, what did you _do_?"

"I trusted him," she wept, her shoulders shaking. "He said… he _lied_. He said I could see my family one last time, said I would be able to say goodbye. He said he was my friend. Instead he killed me. He _killed me_, Cullen. _He killed me and now I__'__m this, and I can__'__t ever come back._"

Cullen simply held her. She had explained to him before what it meant, what would happen to her if, in her words, her "cord was cut," her tie to her human body severed. She was truly a spirit now, as Cole was when he first crossed over from the Fade. Fluctuating, without form, grasping at the memory of a body. He closed his eyes and tried to calm the rising swell of panic within him. How could they go on now?

When she had finally ceased crying he broached the subject. "Maybe after some time, you could return," he said delicately. "Once you learn to… ground yourself."

"It's too dangerous," she said, pulling away from him, her face dry and moon-pale, almost translucent despite how real she felt. "I don't know how long it will take to master this. I wasn't born to be a spirit, not like Cole. I'd slip up, and they'd know. The Inquisition would be torn apart." She hung her head. "I can't come back."

Cullen struggled to think of something. "Morrigan," he finally said. "We'll reach out to her, inform her of your new situation. She's already researching ways…"

Errol didn't seem inspired. "Maybe," she said, lifting her eyes back to his. "She would be the best to search. Perhaps she can help me with my hunt as well. But for now, I need to stay like this."

"Why?" he asked, brushing hair from her eyes. It was silver, not blonde, and spooled like silk through his fingertips, too soft and without tangles.

"I need to stop him."

"Solas?"

She nodded. "I can track him through the Fade like this, work with spirits, sense him… he needs to be stopped."

The webbed and gnarled mark was still shining on the crux of her neck. "He gave that to you, didn't he?"

She nodded again. "I didn't know what he was, then."

"And what is he?"

"A liar. Dangerous."

"What is he planning?"

"Something bad. Something bigger than the Breach, maybe. Something that will make Corypheus look like a child's game."

He sucked in a breath. "Can you be more specific?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I can't say. It's all so damn frustrating."

"Cole said…" Cullen hesitated, then plowed forward. "Cole said that Solas… wants you. In a… well, that he's attracted to you. Did you know?"

"Yes." Her voice was little more than a whispered breath. "He was… predatory, and I was an idiot, because I wanted to believe that he could be changed, that he could respect me, that he was my _friend_." She buried her face in her hands. "I'm a fool, and I've ruined everything."

"Nothing is ruined," Cullen said, gripping the back of her neck as if anchoring her to the real world. He could feel her pain as if she was projecting it in waves, feel her shifting, slipping, trying to retain all of what she was. "This is unfortunate, but it's not the end. We will find a way to make you human, Errol, when the time is right. Perhaps it's even a good thing - could you have become human here when you still had a living body there?"

She looked up, something small and hopeful in her eyes. "I… I don't know."

"We have raised an army and made the Inquisition a power across Thedas, and you closed the Breach and defeated a would-be God. We can do this." He cupped her face in his hand and she nuzzled into it, her breath steadying, becoming more natural. "Believe in yourself, in us, in the Inquisition. We will do this, I swear it."

"I believe you," Errol said, her words the ghost of a whisper. She climbed further onto the bed and curled up in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest. He held her, and tried to believe his own words.

They sat in silence for a long time. Then, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly, he said: "What should I tell them?"

Errol thought, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as they always did, a very human gesture. "Tell them… tell them that my work was finished, and the Maker saw fit to pull me back to my world. Cassandra can take over the Inquisition. Let them write about me in history books, the hero that came to save Thedas and then vanished back to her strange reality. It'll make for a good ending to Varric's tale." She shoved her fist in her mouth as she fought not to cry. "Actually, you can… you can tell Varric the truth. Just him. He's… he won't write about it. Not this. Cole knows as well. That's it though. The rest of them… they'll mourn me, but they can never know. Never. I must be as good as dead for the Inquisition to remain. It must stay strong for whatever comes next."

His voice almost caught on his next question. "And what about us?"

She was quiet for a moment, and then she laced their fingers together. Her hand was warm again, as if she remembered how to turn on her body heat. "If you want to move on and be with a human, with someone who can give you a future, I understand," she said slowly. "It could be a long time before this is over, and we might never find a way to make me human. But I'm selfish, and I love you, and I want you all to myself. If you'll have me, I'll come to you at night in the Fade. I'm more real there at the moment. Eventually, once I'm comfortable in the real world, I'll be able to appear here as well. As long as no one knows, as long as no one hears… I still want to be with you."

"I would have no one else," he said, tipping her chin up to look him in the eyes. "There is and never will be anyone else for me."

She smiled at him, but it was infinitely sad. "You'll have to play the widower in front of everyone," she warned. "Iron Bull will likely try to set you up with rebounds. I expect you'll find women, and men, in your chambers on several occasions in the upcoming months."

"I'll send them away and fall eagerly asleep," he said, leaning forward to capture her lips. "Anything to see you, hold you, know that you're here."

"I love you," she said, and she sounded broken. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"We will find a way through this," he promised.

She just kissed him again, and said nothing.

* * *

"I want to come with you."

Errol was invisibly slipping out of Skyhold when she heard the plaintive voice. She turned and saw Cole standing there, quivering with the effort it took to catch her, see her now in her ephemeral form. She shook her head.

"I'm so sorry—"

"I want to come with you!" he insisted. "I can help!"

Errol held her arms open and he rushed into them. She made herself more solid for him, and he clutched at her, rocking back and forth. "Too cold, too light, too bright, all Fade, not enough blood or beating or warmth, like I used to be," he whined. "I don't like it."

"I don't either," she said, stroking his hair. He was without his hat, and his hair had been freshly washed. He was learning to do it himself but still wasn't very good at it, and it was slicked with soap. "My Cole, I wish it wasn't like this."

"Then take me with you! I was like you and became human, I can help!" He turned his huge eyes on her. "You shouldn't hunt him, you should leave him be. He has too much power over you, too much hunger. He always knows where you are, always in control, and wants to play with you because it will make the taking all the sweeter. Become human and he cannot make you what he wants you to be."

"If I become human I can't stop him, either," she said, and he huffed.

"At least you'll be safe! You haven't seen inside his mind! The things he wants to do to you!"

She winced. "I… have an idea. I won't let it happen. I won't get close myself. I know spirits now, good ones like you were, and there's Morrigan and others like her. I won't confront him, I promise."

He buried his head in her shoulder. "Please let me help, please please."

"Cole, you're…" She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, you're too human now. You can't even enter the Fade anymore, can you?"

His shoulders slumped. "No," he said dejectedly. "You should have left me a spirit. Then I'd be able to help."

"You can help here, with the Inquisition. I can relay messages through you. You can still hear thoughts and sense the Fade without being asleep. You'll be my eyes and ears at Skyhold. You will help me, you just can't be with me."

"I'll…" He paused as if the words were foreign to him. "I'll miss you."

She kissed the top of his soapy head. "I'll miss you too, my Cole. I love you, you know."

"Love," he said softly, confused. "Not like you love Cullen."

She laughed a little. "No, not like that. Like I love family. You're my family."

His hands clenched around her back. "I… love you too, then. Family. Love. It feels good to say." He nodded. "I'll stay here and help."

"Good." Errol released him and took a step back. "If you miss me, you can always talk to me in your head and I'll hear you. I'm never far away, not really. You're the only one who can do that."

"Yes," he said, still sounding sad. "I'll do that."

Errol kissed him one last time, on his cheek, and then slipped into the Fade, her body lighter than air, leaving nothing behind except the faint scent of ozone and a hint of magic, and the sense the Skyhold would always, infinitely be emptier.

* * *

A month later, Cullen stood and watched the statue be erected in the middle of the courtyard. It made him sick to look at it. "Is that… _thing_ really necessary?"

"It's by decree of the Divine," Cassandra said. "Skyhold has become a holy pilgrimage to honor her memory. Her origin and disappearance have placed her among Andraste herself, and the Chantry is struggling to find a way to incorporate her into their teachings without being blasphemous. This is the least they could do to appease the people for the moment."

"But it's—"

"Awful, I know." Cassandra stared hard at it, her lips thin. "To walk by her visage every day, as if she was some holy figure and not our friend, and to know that she is truly gone. It feels wrong. She would hate it."

"Damn right she would," Varric said, coming up to stand next to them. The statue showed Errol in light silvery armor, her ceremonial sword held high, her hair lifting around her head as if in a breeze. "It's better than bowls of fire, but she never wanted to be remembered like this. She wanted to be the girl who told dirty jokes and cursed way too much and got drunk and— shit." He ran his hand over his face. Cullen had told him the truth and it seemed to have shaken him even more than the lie that everyone else believed.

"At least she is home, and hopefully safe, with her family," Cassandra said with finality. To Cullen's surprise he found her hand on his forearm, and when he looked up he saw pity in her eyes. "Cullen, you must remember that. She is not dead. The ceremony we are holding is honoring her service here. It is not her funeral."

"I… know," he said, hoping he sounded appropriately sad. "Thank you, Cass— Inquisitor."

"It's odd, though," Cassandra mused. "The reports that some rifts are still closing, as if on their own. I wonder if a part of her power still lingers." She shook her head. "The Maker works in mysterious ways."

Then she walked away, turning so that she didn't have to face the statue. Varric leaned in.

"Word of advice, Curly? You want to sell this thing, try to cry. Just a tear or two. I've got a powder, a pinch will have your eyes streaming. And— say hi to her for me. Makes me wish I could dream too, for once." He clapped Cullen on the back and walked away, his shoulders slumped.

* * *

The water sways softly against the dock. The sun is bright and warm, the grass beneath him soft, the picnic abandoned along with their clothes. She is snuggled next to him, her hand tracing intricate patterns across his chest.

Cullen breathes in, holds it, lets it out. He's used to the Fade by now, but it's still a strange transition, letting go of that instinct that forever waits for it to turn into a bloody nightmare full of demons.

"You're safe," she says, and he captures her hand in his.

"I know." He brings her fingers to his lips, kissing each one. "You know, it wasn't nearly this bright and warm the day we came here."

"The water's warmer too, if you want to take a swim."

He chuckles. "Perhaps. I'm just glad you're here."

"I always am."

He rolls on his side and props himself up on his arm, looking down at her. She's now on her back, her silver hair spread around her like a halo, her smile shy. "Hi," she breathes.

He brings one hand to her breast and gently cups it, caressing the nipple with his thumb. "Hello. What have you been up to?"

Errol bites her lip and arches up a little. "Oh, you know, the usual. Closing rifts, trying to turn helpful spirits against a vengeful god, trying to figure out the next movements of said vengeful god, trying to break this damn magic that keeps me from telling anyone living about the vengeful god, trying to stay away from grabby hands vengeful god, dealing with Morrigan and her wondrously even-keeled and not at all condescending way of helping out, the usual. Yourself?"

Cullen continues his ministrations as he thinks. He knows a little about Solas now; she had been able to break through the magic enough to tell him that he was some kind of god and nothing else, but he finds himself bound by the same magic she is, unable to inform anyone else. "Let's see," he says, sweeping his hand down to her hip and back, tracing the curves of her body, relieved that it is starting to feel more real, even if they are in the Fade. Her scars are even reappearing, one by one, as if she is trying to meticulously trying to recreate her body. Oddly enough, her hair stays moon silver, as if she is keeping it as a reminder of what she now is.

"Leliana has created a college of Enchanters as she promised, and hasn't spilled too much blood - yet. Cassandra is settling into the role of Inquisitor well, though she continues to send search parties out for the Seekers. Once enough have been found she'll elect a leader and have them begin to rebuild in Skyhold.

"Unfortunately without you we have no one to lead a mission to Weissept. They won't let in anyone who's not a Grey Warden. Perhaps if Blackwall were here… but he's not. Cassandra has her hands full and they're not listening to the Divine or anyone else. We must wait and let them sort out their problems themselves, and hope that it is nothing more than an internal skirmish that Alistair and Blackwall can handle themselves.

"Varric is getting ready to head back to Kirkwall to meet with his editor - he sends his regards, by the way. Iron Bull, the Chargers, and Sera, are — here. But not the same. They miss you greatly. As does Dorian. He's thinking of returning to Tevinter, to begin to enact change. He'll return, eventually, because of Bull, but I think for the moment he was remaining because of you."

"Hmmm," Errol says, tracing his jaw with her thumb. "You should try to convince him to stay. A war may be coming soon. We'll need his talents."

"How can I can I convince him without telling him anything?"

"Tell him I mentioned it before I left. I don't know. Lie."

He huffs. "I'm not a very good liar."

She smirks. "You're getting better."

Cullen frowns. "I don't like this. The— that awful statue of you in Skyhold, people making pilgrimages there like you're Andraste herself. Cassandra is in mourning, they expect _me _to be in mourning. I have to — Maker's breath, everyone is always either avoiding me or trying to get me to _have fun_."

"I did warn you."

He pulls her closer. "I want you by my side again. I want this farce over with."

"I will be. Someday. Morrigan is hopeful it can be done. I'm considering… you know what, you're right about lying to Dorian. He's been in the dark long enough. Maybe he can help as well. I want a body as soon as this Solas business is finished with."

He buries his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. "And what will we tell people then?"

"That I fell from the sky again! It's a miracle!"

"You're incorrigible," he says. "They'll worship you even more, then."

"As long as you don't," Errol says. "Well, perhaps with your body."

Cullen chuckles softly. "I'll take that into consideration." He trails his fingers along the curve of her face, the smooth edge of her ear, the plush warmth of her bottom lip. "We will prevail, Errol. I promise you that."

She cups his cheek in return. "I believe you. As long as I have you…" She takes a shaking breath. "You have to know, no matter what happens, I'm so thankful I came here. I wouldn't change that. As long as I have you, I'm home."

He leans down and kisses her, and she tastes like something familiar and long forgotten, like warmth and sun and earth, and beyond it something foreign, the tinge of the Fade a far-off storm against his skin. "My home."

"My home," she breathes. He almost believes it then, in her arms, that all will be well. Despite all the odds, they have defeated everything else that has stood in their way, and they are still together.

They will prevail.


	35. Epilogue: The Place Beyond

_**Hi all, this is the end of Book One of this series. I won't be posting the rest of the series here, but you can find the next book on my AO3 (name again is Unstoppablei) if you'd like to keep reading. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!**_

* * *

**Epilogue: The Place Beyond**

"I'm so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Kerr."

Joanna wailed and buried herself in her husband's sweater, while Broehain looked stoically ahead. "Is my daughter dead, doctor?"

"She… is close," Doctor Hunt said gently. "The knife hit with uncanny precision and force. It nearly severed her spinal cord. She is functionally brain dead; any minor activity that she had before, the ability to breathe, for example, is gone. There is simply nothing left. She is stabilized and sustained by a ventilator, but she won't last long. You must say your goodbyes."

"How long?" Broehain asked, and the doctor looked surprised.

"Excuse me?"

"How long can she last like that?"

"A few days, a week at most - but she will keep crashing and we will continue to have to resuscitate her. I'm so sorry to say this, but it's not worth the effort. She's gone."

Broehain suddenly lashed out, pinning the doctor to the wall. "She's _not _gone," he growled. "There must be a way to bring her back."

"Broehain, please," Joanna cried, trying to drag him away. "Stop it."

"I'm sorry," Doctor Hunt said again, fruitlessly. "We can't save everyone. At least the doctor who did this is in a secure institution—"

"It was NOT a doctor who did this!" Broehain roared. "You weren't there! God damnit, man, he's telling the truth when he says he remembers nothing! It wasn't him, I saw it! _He didn__'__t stab my daughter!_"

Joanna grabbed him again. "Broehain, please—"

"No!" He shook her off. "I lost Anna, I will not lose Errol, not when I can fix this! You saw it too, you heard them! That was not a doctor, it was someone in his body! It was possession!"

"Maybe we should discuss this in my office," Doctor Hunt said delicately, rubbing his shoulder where Broehain had pushed him into the wall. "You're making people uncomfortable."

Broehain stalked to the doctor's office, hating how caged in it felt, how stuffy, the stupid, useless degrees hanging from the walls. His daughter, his precious, baby girl was lying there dying and this bastard was saying there was nothing he could do about it. Bullshit. He knew what he had seen. He had eyes. His daughter had woken up and spoken to that man and said her goodbyes with a clarity in her eyes he'd never seen before. She'd spoken of strange and wondrous things, spoken of one day coming home again, and then that man had stabbed her, and Broehain's whole world had fallen apart.

The young doctor with blood drenched hands had immediately shaken his head as if coming awake from a dream and started to scream. It was magic, it was possession, Broehain knew it. Errol was involved in something bigger than her. He was Scottish, he knew the stories, he believed what his grandmother had told him of the Fae and the Selkie and the Will O' Wisps. He hadn't been able to save Anna, his dear sweet sister who looked so much like Errol that sometimes he thought she was Anna come back to him, but he would save his daughter if he had to walk into hell itself.

Doctor Hunt closed the door behind him. "Mr. Kerr, I'm not sure what else you expect me to do," he started. Broehain took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down.

"Please, Doctor, I'm willing to do anything," he said.

"There's nothing you _can_ do. Sometimes terrible things happen. Sometimes people just die."

Broehain gripped the edge of the huge oak desk that took up most of the room. "There must be something," he said. "Someone you send the hopeless cases to. The ones who are willing to try anything. The ones modern medicine won't work on. Something. Someone. Anyone. I'll do _anything, _no matter how crazy it may seem."

Doctor Hunt hesitated. "You mean… like a faith healer?"

"Anything. Voodoo, priests, faith healing, dancing naked in the moonlight, animal sacrifice. Anything."

Joanna took a sharp breath. "You can't be serious."

Broehain ignored her. "Do you know of anyone?"

Doctor Hunt sat behind his desk and rifled through one of his drawers. "There is… someone," he said slowly. "I'm not… supposed to do this anymore. He doesn't want to be contacted. But he… he worked. Whatever he did, it worked. Normally I would never, but—" He looked Broehain in the eye. "I _did_ review the security footage, Mr. Kerr. I saw what happened in that room and it wasn't normal. I will try to reach him, if you like."

"Do it," Broehain said immediately. "I'll give you anything you want."

Doctor Hunt shook his head. "Money is fine," he said dismissively. "Anyway, I'm not the one you pay. It's a friend of mine, he's the one with the contact. He's the one who said that this... healer doesn't want to involve himself in our business anymore. He's an odd one, a hermit from Norway. My friend met him many years ago. But I'll try to convince my friend to convince the healer… if your daughter survives for long enough, maybe—" He spread his hands. "I make no promises."

"Thank you," Broehain said, taking Joanna into his arms and letting the tears finally swell in his eyes. "I mean it. Thank you."

Doctor Hunt nodded. "I'll send the message now."

* * *

The archeologist was in Ushuaia, at the very tip of Argentina, when he printed out the email and its attached article and held it between his hands. The email simply read: _"__I know you said he didn__'__t want to be contacted anymore, but if you could get him to make an exception for anything, it__'__s this. Time is short. Hurry.__"_

The article was a lurid story about a girl who hovered near the brink of death because one of her doctors stabbed her in the neck. She had mysteriously fallen into a coma while hiking on the day the Northern Lights flared across much of the Northwestern United States, and then woken unexpectedly three days later only to have a strange conversation with her doctor before he plunged a knife into her throat. Now she hovered on the brink of death while the tabloids splashed two photos of her over their pages: One of her pretty face, smiling and freshly scrubbed, blonde hair a cloud around her shoulders, the other of that same face with a ventilator and a feeding tube, blood crusting her nose and mouth, her hair a shorn, matted mess.

He stared hard at the first picture and then reached for the photo on his desk, the one that had haunted him since it came up on his server two days ago. It was a grainy shot from the explorer cam, the one his winter team at the Antarctic base had dropped into that mysterious cavern deep under the ice, the one they'd only found through x-rays. The x-rays had suggested some interesting rock formations, but instead the camera had shown much more, fragments of an actual lost civilization: worn statues around a huge intact mirror, with actual live flowers blooming at its base. And it had been in the dead of night, when the team was sleeping and only he was monitoring the images from far-off Argentina, that the mirror had _opened_ and flooded the room with blue light, and the camera captured the image he now held in his hand.

Two women, as different as night and day. One with raven hair in little more than a black bra and a draping top, with a leather skirt and boots and one long sleeve, her eyes golden like a hawk's, the other with sun-blonde hair and upswept green eyes in leather leggings and knee high boots, with a long silken shirt and a vest that laced beneath her breasts and rose high to brush her jaw. Both looked like something out of a fantasy story, but they were real, staring out from inside the mirror a mile underneath the ice.

He looked back at the article and confirmed it: Somehow, impossibly, the blonde in the mirror was the girl lying in the hospital in Seattle.

This was it. He paged through his old journal until he reached the long spread of numbers, then balanced the old corded phone on one shoulder as he dialed and waited for the international call to go through, the line silent but for faint, fuzzy clicks.

He'd convince his old spirit healer friend to save the girl if he had to hogtie him and carry him to Seattle himself. It was the hermit that had spurred his interest in the occult years ago - a grumpy old man living at the fringes of society in Norway who spoke no English, and who claimed that the Northern Lights gave him visions and powers. The archeologist hadn't believed it until he saw it for himself, and once he did he set up a nice little moneymaking system, coaxing the healer to travel far and wide to lay his hands on the sick and injured. Unfortunately, age had finally caught up with the geezer a few years back, and he gave up on his wandering ways and moved in with his family in Longyearbyen.

That was the end of the relationship, and the archeologist had been forced to continued on alone in his search for more magic, more power. But the healer would come this time, no matter what it took. It shouldn't take much - he was owed one last favor, after all, and thank whatever Gods people believed in that the old man was in Longyearbyen now, with cell phone access and an airport. The archeologist wouldn't even have to go anywhere, just make a call. One call, and it would be done. It would have to be done.

The phone picked up, the voice on the other end aged and grainy. _"__Hallo?"_

The archeologist took a deep breath. "Jeg trenger din hjelp."

He had to save this one. It was important. She was it, the one he'd been told about, the one who would change his life, who would change everything. He had to make sure it happened just right, and stay here for now, at the tip of Argentina, for more instructions.

For it was only here, under the Southern Lights, that he dreamed of wolves.


End file.
